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THE SEVEN DEAR CHILDREN 



FOR WHOSE AMUSEMENT THESE VERSES WERE ORIGINALLY WRITTEN 



THEY ARE NOW MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 



rami (fficoroe 




for £atxx t vf-nnlaua. 



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Reign of William the Conqueror, 1066-1087, 

drf)f Conquest of OFnglanD. 

PART I. 

Duke William stood on the Norman 
shore, 
With all his merry men round ; 
And he will sail the blue seas o'er, 
y *2J ^p | an d on English ground. 



LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Saint Edward made him, ere lie died, 

Heir to the English throne ; 
But Saxon Harold, in his pride, 

I I.ith seized it for his own. 

So the duke hath summon'd hia va*srls brave 

From castle, cot, and tower ; 
And he will cross the rushing wave 

To reckon witli Harold's power. 

They came, his liegemen stout and true, 
With the serfs whom they commanded ; 

Some brought many, and some brought few, 
But none came empty-handed. 

By the trumpet-sound they gather around, 

And their banners stream on high, 
And their spears shine bright as the stars of night 

In a clear and frosty sky. 

Whence comes yon graceful bark which glides 
To the spot where the duke is standing, 

And leaps the crests of the dancing tides 
With an air of proud commanding ? 

The sails are of silk, and flutteriugly 

They wave in the breezes mild ! 
At the prow is a sculptured effigy 

Of a fair and smiling child. 

But who is the lady of lofty brow, 

Bright eye, and arching lip, 
Who waveth her white haud from the prow 

Of the gay and stately ship 1 

She is known from afar by her queenly air, 
And the circlet on her brows ; 



THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. 

; Tis the Duchess Matilda, wise and fair, 
Duke William's honoured spouse. 

To land full lightly vaulted she, 

And up to the duke she came — 
u My lord, accept this ship from me; 

The Mora is its name. 

Its chambers are deck'd for a monarch fit, 

With cushions of velvet piled ; 
The form at the prow — look well on it — 

'Tis the form of our youngest child. 

My hand it was that 'broider'd the sail, 
Though the tear was in mine eye — 

God send my lord a favouring gale, 
And a joyous victory !" 

" Thanks, lady, thanks," the duke replied, 

" Right princely is thy gift; 
Soon leaping from its painted side, 

My good sword will I lift. 

When its gay pennon streameth far, 

My heart shall look to thee, 
As the pilot's eye to the northern star, 

Guiding us o'er the sea. 

Farewell, my lady and my wife, 

So loyal, fair, and true ; 
If I come back to thee with life, 

I will come with honour too." 

" Farewell, my hero— knighthood's flower — 

My husband and my lord !" 
Right tender was that parting hour, 

Right fond each parting word. 

B 



4 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

The lady's tears, e'en while she spake, 

Did fast and freely start ; 
And many a sigh did slowly break 

From Duke William's mighty heart. 

" Adieu!" he cried: in speechless grief 

Matilda sought her bower ; 
And to his good ship sprang the chief, 

With all his armed power. 

Away with a breeze that curls the seas 

And scatters the foam as a cloud, 
Each liglit bark rides on the bounding tides, 

Like a knight on a courser proud. 

TheysaiFd all the night; but when morning shone bright, 

And the duke he gazed around, 
Not a sail could be traced on the ocean's wide waste, 

Not a bark could there be found. 

" How may this be," quoth the duke at last, 

" That we are thus left alone ? 
My wife's fair ship, thou travellest fast ; 

Of our comrades see T none. 

Go up to the mast-head speedily, 

My squire. What meets thine eye ?" 
16 Nought save the grey far-stretching sea, 

And the cloudy morning sky." 

" Now, by my faith," said Duke William then, 

u 111 shall we fare I trow, 
If I am met without my men 

By the angry English now. 

Go up again— what seestthou now, 
My squire so brave and true ?" 



THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. t 

" Where the blue sea-line with the sky doth join 
A darksome speck I view. " 

" A babe may grow to a monarch free, 

To a storm a little cloud ; 
God send that tiny speck may be 

My gallant fleet and proud ! 

Go up once more— -gaze o'er the sea : 

Good squire, what seest thou there ?" 
" Hurra !" cried he, " 'tis a forest I see 

Of tall masts rising fair. 

They are coming, they are coming, as come the clouds 

When the storm gathers fast on high ; 
When noiseless and light, and too swift for sight, 

They cover the wide blue sky." 

The sea grew white with a thousand sails 

On its distant billows riding, 
Spreading their wings to the wanton gales, 

Like the birds around them gliding. 

The fresh breeze fann'd the Conqueror's cheek, 
And the Conqueror's heart beat high — 

" Our arms are strong, and our foes are weak, 
We are sailing to victory." 



PART II. 



The morn was bright, the sky was blue, 
And each Norman heart was gay, 

When swift as a bird the Mora flew 
Into fair Hastings bay. 



LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Full soon Duke William sprang to land 
With a proud and knightly grace; 

But be miss'd his step on the treach'rous sand,- 
He fell upon his face ! 

Now foul befall thee, treach'rous shore, 
Thou hast laid a good knight low ; 

A knight who hath never fallen before 
By the stroke of any foe. 

Ill be thy name, thou faithless sand : 

Of foes we may all beware ; 
But how can the brave heart understand 

That which is false and fair? 

Pale grew the cheeks of the Normans then, — 

" An omen \" they loudly cry : 
" Let us go o'er the main to our homes again ; 

We will not stay here to die." 

But up leap'd the joyous duke from earth, 
And shook his fair plume on high ; 

Untamed was his laugh in its ringing mirth, 
Unquench'd was his proud bright eye. 

His grasp it was full of the yellow sea-sand, 
And he shouted, " My men, what ho ! 

See, I have England in my hand — 
Do ye think I will let it go ?" 

Loudly then answer'd his warriors bold : 

"True be thy daring word ! 
We will follow thee till our hearts wax cold- 

God save our conquering lord V* 

They built on the shore a fort of wood, 
They framed it cunningly ; 



THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND, 

Its beams so strong, and its walls so good, 
They had brought with them o ? er the sea. 

But they were not aware that a knight stood there, 
And watch'd them whiles they wrought ; 

Behind an oak-tree unseen stood he, 
And gazed on the growing fort. 

Then with eager speed he mounted his steed, 

And away to Earl Harold he hied : 
" Evil, great king, are the news I bring — 

Duke William hath crossed the tide. 

Duke William of Normandy, mighty and strong, 

He hath landed at Pevensie ; 
And with him a fierce and a terrible throng 

Of the knights of his own countrie. 

They have built them a fort upon Hastings beach, 

The like was never known ; 
No time is there now for dallying speech, 

Arm, arm thee for thy throne !" 

" I laugh at thy news," Lord Harold he cried 5 

" For in annal and in song 
Shall be told, how we taught this man of pride 

His weakness and his wrong. 

Arm, my brave Saxons, mount and arm—' 

Ye know that our cause is just ; 
Ere a night and a day hath glided away 

Our foes shall bite the dust V 1 

The armies are marching — the two great hosts— 

Behold, they are sweeping past ; 
The sound of their step on the echoing coasts 

Was like a rushing blast. 



B J, 



8 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

They met wlien the western sun grew pale, 

At twilight's peaceful hour ; 
When eve was spreading her soft grey veil 

O'er hill, and field, and tower. 

Sternly they gazed on each bright array, 

By the moonbeams rising slow ; 
Like men who felt that by break of day 

They should stand as foe to foe. 

How did the Saxons pass that night? 

In wassail and revelry ; 
Reckless they drank till the pure moon sank, 

And the sun rose from the sea. 

How did the Normans pass that night? 

In fasting and in prayer; 
They kncel'd on the sod, and they cried to their God, 

And their solemn hymns fill'd the air. 

" Mine arms, mine arms !" Duke William cried, 
When he saw the first glimpse of dawn ; 

" Each moment is lost till my steed I bestride — 
Sound ye the battle-horn." 

He buckled his cuirass blue and sheen, 
And he brandish'd his sword so bright ; 

In helmet and plume was there never seen 
A fairer or statelier knight. 

Proudly he strode from his milk-white tent, 

And high on his steed did spring ; 
Each man that saw hirn as he went 

Said, " Yonder rides a king !" 

The battle was long, the battle was fierce, — 
It is an awful sight 



THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. 9 

When keen swords strike, and when swift darts pierce, 
From morn till dewy night. 

Full many a gallant knight was slain, 

And many a joyous steed; 
And blood w T as pour'd like summer rain, 

Or the last eve's flowing mead. 

The Saxons turned, the Saxons fled — 

How could they choose but yield, 
When they saw Earl Harold lying dead 

Beside his useless shield ? 

Now is Duke William England's king, 

That great and mighty chief; 
The Normans are blithe as the merry spring, 

But mute is the Saxons' grief. 

Good news, good news to Normandie, 

Where the fair Matilda mourns ; 
'Twas a duke who left her to cross the sea, 

But 'tis a king returns. 

They rear'd an abbey where Harold fell, 

A stately pile and fair ; 
Through its still, grey walls the solemn bell 

Oft sumraon'd to praise and prayer. 

It is standing yet— a monument 

Whose old and crumbling wall 
To the gazer's eye is eloquent 

Of Harold's lame and fall. 



10 



LAYS AND RALLADS. 



lleign of William Rufus, 108M100. 



There moves a sad procession 

Across the silent rale, 
With backward-glancing eyes of grief, 

And tearful cheeks all pale. 
Scattered and slow, without array, 

With wavering feet they go, 
Yet with a kind of solemn pace — 

The measured tread of woe. 

There women pause and tremble, 

And weep with breaking heart ; 
While men, with deeply knitted brows, 

Stride mutely on apart. 
There infants cling upon the breast. 

Their own accustom'd place ; 
And children gaze up askingly 

Into each darkened face. 

For the king has sent his soldiers, 

Who strike and pity not : 
They have razed to the earth each smiling home, 

They have burn'd each lowly cot. 
It was the ruthless Conqueror 

By whom this deed was done ; 
And yet more fierce and hard of heart 

Was Rufus his stern son. 



THE NEW FOREST. 11 

So they leave each humble cottage, 

Where they so long have dwelt, 
Where morn and eve to simple prayer, 

With thankful hearts, they knelt — 
Places all brighten'd with the joy 

Of sweet domestic years, 
And spots made holy by the flow 

Of unforgotten tears. 

And the gardens are uprooted, 

And the walls cast down around ; 
It is all a spacious wilderness — 

The king's great hunting-ground ! 
While hopeless, homeless, shelterless, 

Those exiles wander on ; 
And most of them lie down to die, 

Ere many days are gone. 

Forest ! green New Forest ! 

Home of the bird and breeze, 
With all thy soft and sweeping glades, 

And long dim aisles of trees ; 
Like some ancestral palace, 

Thou standest proud and fair, 
Yet is each tree a monument 

To Death and lone Despair ! 

And thou, relentless tyrant, 

Ride forth and chase the deer, 
With a heart that never melted yet 

To pity or to fear. 
But for all these broken spirits, 

And for all these wasted homes, 
Gocl will avenge the fatherless — 

The day of reckoning comes ! 



12 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

To hunt rode fierce King Rufus, 

Upon a holy morn — 
The Church had summon'd him to pray, 

But lie held the Church in scorn. 
Sir Walter Tyrrel rode with him, 

And drew his good bow-string ; 
He drew the string to smite a deer, 

But his arrow smote the king ! 

Hurl'd from his trembling charger, 

The death-struck monarch lay ; 
While fast, as flees the startled deer, 

Rash Tyrrel fled away : 
On the spot where his strong hand had made 

So many desolate, 
He died with none to pity him — 

Such was the tyrant's fate ! 

None mourn'd for cruel Rums : 

With pomp they buried him ; 
But no heart grieved beside his bier — 

No kindly eye grew dim ; 
But poor men lifted up their heads, 

And clasp'd their hands, and said, 
" Thank God, the ruthless Conqueror 

And his stern son are dead V 9 

Remember, oh, remember, 

You who shudder at my lay, 
These cruel men were children once, 

As you are now were they : 
They sported round a mother's seat, 

They pray'cl beside her knee ; 
She gazed into their cloudless eyes, 

And ask'd, « What will they be V* 



THE NEW FOREST. 13 

Alas ! unhappy mothers, 

If ye could then have known 
How crime would make each soft young heart 

As cold and hard as stone, 
Ye would have wish'd them in their graves 

Ere life had pass'd its spring. 
Ah, friends, keep watch upon your hearts — 

Sin is a fearful thing. 



14 LAI'S AND BALLADS. 



Reign ofllenry I., 1100-1135. 



Z\)t ISmgljttng of Count &foffrn> of &n(ou. 

Oh, listen, ye dames and warriors all ; 

For never before or since 
Was there known so stately a festival 
As that which at Rouen did befall 

At the knighting of a prince. 

Count Geoffrey of Anjou was his name, 

And the race of our noblest kings — 
The great Plantagenets, whose fame 
Old England should ever be proud to claim — 
From this gallant chieftain springs. 

That name Count Geoffrey did first assume 

When, riding to the chase, 
He wore in his casque, instead of plume, 
A nodding crest of the yellow broom, 

In its fresh and fragrant grace. 

The train it is moving with stately march 

Through the vaulted abbey-gate ; 
The lances are group'd beneath corbel and arch, 
Like a forest dark of the slender larch, 

So airy, and tall, and straight. 

The bishop walk'd first in his mitre and gown, 

A reverend prelate was he ; 
With his bare silver tresses in place of a crown, 
Next came great King Henry of learned renown, 

From England beyond the sea. 



KNIGHTING OF COUNT GEOFFREY. 15 

There were heroes and chieftains undaunted in war, — 

In peace gentle, generous, and true ; 
With a step like a monarch, a glance like a star, 
Came the Empress Matilda from Germany far, — 

The betroth'd of the Count of Anjou. 

As they paced up the aisle to the organ's slow strain, 

Like unrolling a blazonried page, 
The walls of the grey abbey echo'd again, 
And its outspreading arches seem'd blessing the train 

With the deep, quiet fervour of age. 

The high mass is over, the aspirant kneels 

At the feet of King Henry the wise ; 
What strength and what hope in his spirit he feels, 
As the vow of his knighthood he solemnly seals 

With his lips, and his heart, and his eyes ! 

The monarch he lifted a Damascene blade 
O'er the kneeling count's brow on high ; 
A blow on his shoulder full gently he laid, 
And by that little action a knight he is made, 
Baptised into chivalry ! 

u Bear thou this blow," said the king to the knight, 

" But never bear blow again ; 
For thy sword is to keep thine honour white, 
And thine honour must keep thy good sword bright, 

And both must be free from stain. 

Thou takest a pledge upon thee now 

To be loyal, and true, and brave, 
Ever to succour the weak and low, 
And to make the fierce oppressor bow, 

And the helpless to aid and save. 



16 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Firm to thy God and thine honour's laws, 

Remember this solemn word, 
That the knight who ever his good sword draws 
Save in a fair and a righteous cause 

Is worthy to lose that sword. 

Two cuisses of steel I give to thee, 

Proof against blade and dart ; 
Even so thy virtue proof should be 
'Gainst the strokes of that ghostly enemy 

Who wars upon the heart. 

I give thee two spurs of gold so bright — 

They are badges of chivalry ; 
Thou must use them as becomes a knight, 
Still to press onward in the fight, 

And never to turn and flee. 

I give thee a glorious steed from Spain — 

Black as a starless night ; 
As his docile neck obeys the rein, 
Bend thou beneath thy lady's chain, 

So binding, yet so slight. 

I give thee a helm with a dancing crest ; 

And like that airy plume, 
The heart beneath thy steely vest 
Should ever be lightsome in thy breast, 

Unshadow'd by fortune's gloom. 

Rise up a knight | w With a joyous spring 

Count Geoffrey leap'd on high ; 
His sword he clasp'd like a living thing, — 
" For God, my lady, and my king! 

Be this my battle-cry." 



KNIGHTING OF COUNT GEOFFREY. 17 

Matilda's band hath buckled his spurs — ■ 

A happy heart was his ; 
And surely a happy task was hers, 
For blest is the bride who ministers 

To her husband's fame and bliss. 

Lightly he sprang* on his best of steeds, 

Which stood at the abbey-door ; 
In his flashing eye each gazer reads 
A promise bright of valorous deeds, 

As he gallops fair Kouen o'er. 

Blithely he rides in the people's sight, 

While the joyous heralds cry, 
" God's blessing on Geoffrey the new-made knight — 
Long may he live, and well may he fight, 

And nobly at last may he die !" 



18 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Reign of Stephen, 1135-1154. 



£J)e ^stape of tije lEmjntss fttattltia. 1 

Through changeful clouds of night 

The winter moon was gliding, 
Like a bird with wings of light 

On the buoyant breezes riding ; 
Fair was the scene, and strangely wild, 

Beneath her wan transparent ray ; 
For the snow, in glittering masses piled, 

Gave back a light that mock'd the day. 

It lay in shining heaps, 

Like pearls of purest brightness; 
It clothed the woods and steeps 

In robes of bridal whiteness; 
And high its crystal ramparts rose 

Along old Thames's alter'd shore ; 
With one wide field of foam-like snows 

The mighty stream was frozen o'er. 

Where Oxford's stately towers 

Rise dark above the water, 
She chides the mournful hours, 

Great Henry's queenly daughter ; 

1 The escape of Matilda took place as narrated in the ballad; but the 
maiden who is there supposed to suggest the scheme is an imaginary- 
personage. 



ESCAPE OF THE EMPRESS MATILDA. 19 

Her ears are filled with sounds of woe. 

Her eyes behold a sight of dread ; 
Without, she sees the rebel foe — 

Within, the dying and the dead. 

Full sadly spake the bands 

Of yielding on the morrow ; 
Then wrung the queen her hands, 

Crying, in wrathful sorrow, 
Ci Ah, Gloucester! ah, my brother dear! 

Thou truest and thou best of men ! 
"Twould not be thus if thou wert here — 

Eight soon should I be rescued then !" 

Down gazed those valiant lords, 

Their grief and shame were bitter ; 
Alas, ungrateful words ! 

Thy tears, O queen, were fitter ; 
For true of heart and strong of hand, 

Each warrior fenced thee with his life ; 
But when stern Famine bares her brand, 

Man can but perish in the strife ! 

Out spake a maiden then : 

" Counsel my lady needeth ; 
When fails the wit of men, 

Oft woman's wit succeedeth. 
At Wallingford, Earl Eobert bides, 

To guard thy son, thine England's heir : 
Can we not cross the frozen tides, 

To seek for aid and safety there P 

" Not so, alas ! not so ! 

Long is the way, and dreary ; 

How shall we pass the foe — 

We, faint and worn and weary V- 

c2 



20 LAYS AND UALLADS. 

" Doubt nothing/' said that damsel bold ; 
11 But only trust thyself to me, 

And thou shalt learn how fearless-soul'd 
An English maiden dares to be !" 

u Farewell, ye noble hearts ; 

God take you to his keeping! 
Behold, your queen departs 

From friends so loyal, weeping V 9 
Matilda donned a milk-white vest; 

And that same damsel, fair and true, 
In robes of stainless white was dress'd, 

Like the eold snow's unspotted hue. 

With linked cords they bound 

The empress and her maiden ; 
O cords, be strong and sound, 

For dearly are ye laden ! 
They lighted noiselessly and fair 

Upon the river's glassy bed ; 
The silence of the midnight air 

Received no echo from their tread. 

They fled, like startled deer 

From the eager huntsman trooping, 
Beneath the ice-hills clear 

Full oft for shelter stooping. 
The watchmen gazed adown the stream, 

As they paced around the rebel-camp : 
" See, how the flying snow-flakes gleam 

Under the moon's resplendent lamp !" 

Six weary miles they fled, 
With fear and weakness striving, 

Their cheeks as white with dread 
As the snows against them driving. 



ESCAPE OF THE EMPRESS MATILDA. 21 

They paused awhile at Abington, 

While steeds were brought of fleetest power ; 
To Wallingford they hurried on, 

And reach'd it ere the dawn's first hour. 

Her steed the empress checked, 

Scarce could her limbs sustain her ; 
Little of that she reck'd, 

Nought now hath power to pain her. 
Widely Earl Robert flings the gates, 

His sister and his queen to greet ; 
He leads her where prince Henry waits, 

And, ah, their first embrace w T as sweet ! 

Matilda wept apart, 

Gentle and calm her weeping, 
Softening her haughty heart, 

Like dew the hard earth steeping. 
Her young son in her arms she press'd : 

" With thee," she cried, " thou child most dear, 
And with my brother's generous breast 

To shield me, there is nought I fear. 

Let honour due and fair 

To this my maid be given ; 
Bless w r e with praise and prayer 

The pitying God of heaven ; 
His hand hath saved me from my foes, 

His hand shall still my friends sustain ; 
Thanks be to God ! I am with those 

Who are my heart's beloved again!" 



22 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Efje <£ngli»f) fHmftant anto ttjc Saracen lalni. 



LAY THE FIRST. 

It was a merchant, a merchant of fame, 

And he sail'd to the Holy Land : 
Gilbert a Becker was his name; 

And lie went to trade with the Syrians rich 
For velvets, and satins, and jewels, which 
lie might sell on the western strand. 

But the luckless merchant was captive ta'en 

By a Turcoman fierce and rude; 
They bound his limbs with a galling chain, 

And they set him to labour, early and late, 
In the gardens which lay round the palace-gate 
Of the terrible chief Mahmoud. 

It was there he met with a Saracen maid 

Of virtue and beauty rare : 
And, behold, our merchant forgot his trade ; 
His English habits aside he flung, 
And he learn'd to speak with a Saracen tongue, 
For the sake of that damsel fair. 

He taught Zarina the Christians' lore ; 

And the hours sped swiftly by, 
When together they trod the lonely shore, 

And she listened to him with a willing ear, 
And he gazed in her eyes so deep and clear, 
By the light of the morning sky. 



THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 23 

They plighted their faith, and they vow'd to wed, 

If Gilbert should e'er be free ; 
How could she doubt a word he said ? 

For her heart was trustful, pure, and mild, 
Like the heart of a young unfearing child, 
And she loved him hopefully. 

But days stole on, and months stole on, 

And Gilbert was captive yet ; 
A long, long year had come and gone, 

When the maiden wander' d with earnest eye 
To the shadowy walk 'neath the palm-trees high, 
Where oft before they met. 

" I am a Christian, my Gilbert, now," 

The Saracen lady said ; 
The tone of her voice was sweet and low, 

Like the voice of the night-breeze, cool and calm, 
When it sighs through the leaves of the murmuring 
palm, 
Of its own light sounds afraid. 

" At eve and at morn to thy God I pray ; 

Oh, why should I linger here ? 
Let us flee to thine England, far away ; 
The God we serve shall guide our bark 
Over the desert of waters dark ; 
For how can a Christian fear ? 

I will send to thee at the hour of eve, 

When the curtains are drawn o'er heaven ; 
And I shall not weep for the friends I leave, 
For I am an orphan, and ne'er have known 
A gentle word or a kindly tone, 
Save such as thou hast given. 



24 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

My gems shall purchase a gallant boat, 

And a crew of skilful men : 
Oh, when on the fetterless waves we float, 

With the wide blue sky and the wide blue sea 
Stretching around us triumphantly, 
Wilt thou not bless me then V 

He kiss'd her hand, and he vow'd to come ; 

And the night was calm and fair : 
Oh, how the captive thought on home, 
As he gazed the dashing waters o'er, 
And noiselessly paced the rugged shore; 
But Zarina was not there ! 

He look'd to the east, he look'd to the west, 

But her form he could not see ; 
And fear struck cold upon his breast : 
Ye glittering stars, so calm, so pale, 
Say, have ye whispered the lover's tale 
To some ruthless enemy ? 

He look'd to the south, he iook'd to the north, 

A light, light step he hears ! 
And a figure steps from the shadows forth — 
But, alas for Zarina, it is not she ! 
It is but her faithful nurse Safie, 
And her eyes are dim with tears. 

6i Oh, listen," she cried, in bitter woe, 

" Zarina is captive made ! 
Sir Christian, Sir Christian, alone must thou go ; 
Thy way is still clear ; but they know that she 
Was wont to wander at eve with thee, 
By treacherous lips betray 'd. 



THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 25 

She bids thee flee to thine own fair land, 

For thou canst not aid her here." 
The old nurse pointed with her hand. 

Gilbert a Becket he grieved and sigh'd ; 
But he saw the bark on the white waves ride, 
And he thought on England dear. 

"Adieu, my lady," at last he said, 
While the nurse in silence wept ; 
" Oh, I ne'er will forget my Saracen maid, 

But I'll come to seek thee across the wave !" 
The words of the merchant's vow were brave — 
How shall that vow be kept? 

Away flies the bark o'er the billowy foam, 

As though her sails were wings — 
She seems to know she is travelling home; 
And at last good Gilbert a Becket stands 
On the noblest land of all earthly lands — 
Oh, how his glad heart springs ! 



LAY THE SECOND, 

Where is Zarina ? A captive lone 

She sits, with tearful eye ? 
Till two long years are come and gone ; 

And at last, when her ruthless gaolers slept, 
One eve of beauty, forth she crept 
To gaze from the lattice high. 

The wall was steep, yet she dared to leap — 

Safe on the turf doth she stand ! 
'Tis pleasant to be on the green earth free ; 



26 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Yet where shall the hapless maiden go, 
For the English tongue she doth not know, 
Though she seeks the English land ? 

She hath wander'd down to the shore, and there 

Is a bark about to sail, 
With tapering masts that seem to bear, 
Upon their crests so slight and high, 
The outspread curtains of the sky, 
Hung o'er with star-lamps pale. 

Oft hath the maiden her lover heard, 

When he spake of his far-off home : 
Back to her lip returns the word, 

And " London ! London \" in haste she cries, 
With a piteous tone and with streaming eyes, 
While the seamen around her come. 

" It is sad and strange," said the sailors then, 

" That the damsel weepeth thus ; 
But oh, let it never be said that men 
Looked on a woman in sore distress, 
And gave no aid to her feebleness ! — 
The maiden shall sail with us ! M 

So they took her in ; and Zarina smiled, 

And thank' d them with her eyes ; 
Gentle she was as a chidden child ; 

But the mariners could not understand 
The wondrous words of the eastern land, 
So they sail'd in silent wise. 

They came to shore at fair Stamboul, 

And the maiden roam'd all night 
Through its streets so calm, and still, and cool ; 



THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 27 

And to every passer-by that came 
She murmur 7 d forth the one dear name, 
Clasping her hands so white. 

Some turned aside with careless pride, 

And some with angry frown ; 
With a curious ear some turn'd to hear ; 

But the word she spake each passer knew, 
For London is known the wide world through, 
From England's fair renown. 

From place to place did the maiden stray, 

And still that little word 
Was her only guide on her venturous way. 
Full many a pitying stranger gave 
Aid to her journey by land and wave, 
When her low sweet voice was heard. 

And oft at eve would Zarina stand 

On the edge of the darkening flood, 
And sing the lays of her own far land : 

So sweet was her voice when she sang of home, 
That the listening peasants would round her come, 
Proffering their simple food. 

Thus when full many a month had pass'd 

Of wearisome wanderings long, 
To the wish'd-for place she was borne at last ; 
And the maiden gaz'd with bewildered eye 
On each spreading roof and turret high, 
Mid London's hurrying throng. 

Through all that maze of lane and street 

With pleading looks she went ; 
And still her weary voice was sweet : 



28 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

But now was " Gilbert" the name she cried ; 
The world of London is very wide, 
And they knew not whom she meant. 

Gilbert! — her lover's name—how oft 

Had she breath'd that sound before ! 
Her eye grew bright, her tone grew soft ; 

For she thought that life and hope must dwell 
In the precious name she loved so well ; 
And her troubles all secm'd o'er. 

Now Gilbert a Becket was dwelling there, 

Like a merchant-prince was he ; 
His gardens were wide, and his halls were fair ; 
His servants flatter'd, his minstrels play'd ; — 
He had almost forgotten his Saracen maid, 
And their parting beyond the sea. 

But word was brought, as he sate at meat, 

Of a damsel fair and sad, 
Who wander'd for ever through lane and street, 
With clasped hands and strength o'erspent, 
Murmuring u Gilbert!" as she went, 
Like one possess'd, or mad. 

Gilbert a Becket, he straightway rose, 

For his conscience prick'd him sore ; 

Forth from his splendid hall he goes — 

A well-known voice is in his ears, 

And he sees a fair face veil'd in tears, 

And he thinks on the Syrian shore. 

Forth to Zarina in haste he came, 
Oh, how could he ever forget? 
" Gilbert!" she cries— 'tis the self-same name, 



THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 2\) 

But, ah ! what a changed and joyous tone, 
For the maiden's heart is no more alone, 
And the lovers at last are met ! 

He took that happy wanderer home, 

He placed her at his side ; 
O'er desert plain, and o'er ocean's foam, 

She hath come, with her changeless love and faith ; 
And now there is nothing can part, save death, 
The bridegroom and the bride ! 

The maiden was led to the holy font, 
They named her " Matilda" there ; 
Yet ever was Gilbert a Becket wont, 

In his joyous home, with a sweet wife blest, 
To say that he loved Zarina best, 
His Saracen true and fair. 

Their first-born son was a priest of power, 

Who ruled on English ground— 
His fame remaineth to this hour ! 

God send to every valiant knight 
A lady as true, and a home as bright, 
As Gilbert the merchant found ! 



30 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Reign of Henry II., 1154-1189. 



<£avl &trcmg&oto. 

Earl Strong bow lies in Dublin towers, 

Begirt by a mighty host ; 
At the horn's wild sound they have gather' d around 

From forest, hill, and coast. 
There are thirty thousand island men, 

With spears, and bows, and darts ; 
Earl Strongbow has not one to ten — 

Six hundred gallant hearts ! 

Six hundred gallant hearts had he, 

And not a blade beside ; 
But these did battle valorously 

For Strongbow and his bride. 
Fair Eva wept, fair Eva pray'd, 

And wrung her hands of snow ; 
Alas, her tears are little aid 

Against the ruthless foe ! 

The brave earl sate at his castle-board 

At the close of a summer's clay ; 
Freely the generous wine was pour'd 

As they feasted the eve away ; 
He gazed on the manly brows around — 

Cried he, " We may yet hold out, 
For our walls so strong will shield us long, 

And our hearts are full as stout !" 






EARL STRONGBOW. 31 

They answer'd his words by a ringing cheer, 

And Milo de Cogan spoke ; 
" We ]aek but bold Fitzstephen here, 

With his hand and heart of oak ; 
In Carrig fair, Fitzstephen rests ; 

But knew he of our need, 
Soon should we see his courser free 

Come leaping o ? er the mead." 

As he spake, a page came up the hall, 

Like a ghost of the drowivd his seeming ; 
Pale was his lace and feeble his pace, 

And his vest all drench' d and streaming. 
gi Lord baron," he cried, " unseen did I glide 

Through the midst of yon mighty foe, 
Thy moat did I swim, as the twilight sank dim, 

And I bear thee news of woe I 

Be sad, be sad ! thou hast look ; d thy last 

On the bold Fitzstephen's brow \ 
His knightly limbs ere morn be past 

Shall feed the hooded crow : 
Beset by a force of fearful strength, 

By want and famine worn, 
His gallant heart gives way at length, 7 

And he must yield ere morn. 

He sends thee this glove of steel by me ; 

And he bade me pray ye all 
To give a mass to his memory, 

And a sigh to grace his fall." 
Sadly the token Earl Strongbow took, 

While sorrow, shame, and ire 
Strove for a while in his downcast look ; 

But anon his eyes shot fire ! 



32 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

" Answer me, friends," he cried ; " if thus 

Our danger and need were known, 
Would not Fitzstephen die for us ? 

And now shall he fall alone?" 
Up leap'd they all at those stirring words, 

And they shook the ancient hall 
With the angry clash of their outdrawn swords, 

And their shouts, " We are ready all! " 

Ready were all — ah, noble few, 

Ready ye were to die ! 
That heart is chill which feels no thrill 

At your fidelity ! 
One swift embrace exchanging then, 

Like friends who part ere death, 
They rush on the foe, as the mountain-piled snow 

Rushes down on the plains beneath ! 

Ah, knew'st thou, Eva, good and fair, 

Kneeling with lifted hands, 
How he whose name thou breath' st in prayer 

By death beleaguer' d stands, 
Paler would grow thy cheeks' soft glow, 

Sadder thine eyes' soft light, 
But prouder still thy trembling heart, 

To be wife to so true a knight ! 

Come forth, come forth from thy lonely bower, 

A messenger rides below ; 
" Oh, bring' st thou news from Dublin's tower? 

Speak, is it weal or woe ?" 
" Joy, lady, joy — these wond'ring eyes 

Have look'd on deeds of fame ; 
Joy — for the earth, the sea, the skies, 

Ring with Earl Pembroke's name ! 









EARL STRONGBOW. 33 

That tiny band, I saw it dash 

Through the enemy's gathered crowd, 
It was like the slender lightning's flash 

Cleaving the massy cloud. 
Clear shot they through — on either hand 

Their foes nor fight nor fly, 
But stand, as trembling sheep might stand 

When a lion hath darted by ! 

And when they came to Carrig fair, 

Trembling their eyes beheld 
Its lonely banners rock the air, 

Its heights unsentinell'd ; 
Its troops, a sad and downcast host, 

Slow moving to the gate, 
Leaving their leader at his post, 

Death's welcome stroke to wait ! 

1 To the rescue, ho ! ' they charge the foe 

With a torrent's headlong might ; 
With answering shout the troops rush out 

And j oin that desperate fight. 
Oh, who shall say what Fitzstephen felt 

When, from his tower on high, 
He saw the light of their lances bright 

Gleaming against the sky ? 

Oh, who shall say what Fitzstephen felt 

When the glorious fight was done, 
And his friend he prest to his fervent breast, 

As a mother clasps her son !" 
Fair Eva kneel'd on the flowery mead, 

But never a word she spoke ; 
When hark ! the tramp of a coming steed 

That joyful silence broke. 



34 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

In glistening steel, with armed heel. 

And tall plume stooping low, 
With pennon fair, that wooes the air, 

A warrior nears them now; 
His step is light, and his smile is bright, 

As he flings down his charger's rein : 
Oh! this is Pembroke's graceful knight — 

He is come to his own again ! 

" Now, welcome home, mine honour'd lord ! 

Proud should old England be 
To learn from thy resistless sword 

Pure faith and chivalry I 
Oh, I have wept from sun to sun, 

A sad and widowM wife ; 
But I would not wish thy deed undone, 

Though it had cost thy life f* 



CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. 35 



Reign of Richard the First, 1189-1199. 



®fje ©apttfottj) of &omr ire lion. ! 

IN THREE LAYS. 

LAY THE FIRST. 
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE KING. 

In the realm of sunny Palestine, 
Realm of the rose, the palm, the vine, 

The warrior-king hath fought ; 
And the valour of his strong right hand 
Free passage through that hallow' d land 

For Christian men hath wrought. 

Now may the pilgrim fearless tread 
The spot that held his Saviour dead, 

And fearless kneel to pay 
His vows before that sacred shrine, 
In the land of sunny Palestine, 

Where Christians love to pray. 

And the warrior-king hath won him fame, 
A mighty and a glorious name 

Is his, the wide world through ; 
For his deeds on that far eastern shore, 
Done in a righteous cause, seem more 

Than man alone might do. 



3G LAYS AND BALLADS. 

A generous knight he was, who strove 
For fame, and piety, and love, 

Not for base earthly gain : 
He saw his comrades share the .spoil 
Won by his valour and his toil, 

With careless, calm disdain. 

Enough it was for him to feel 
That for his God he drew his steel, 

And for his faith was bold ; 
And he thought one smile so gently bright, 
Given by his lady to her knight, 

Was worth a world of gold. 

And he knew that he should leave behind 
The legacy to all mankind 

Of an undying name ; 
A name to thrill the brave, and make 
The very coward's heart awake 

To not ignoble shame. 

And now, his toils and dangers o'er, 
Joyous he quits that eastern shore ; 

Oh, let him journey fast ! 
For his eager heart with hope doth beat, 
He pants once more to set his feet 

On England's soil at last. 

Yet are there foes upon his way 

To strike, beleaguer, and waylay ; — 

The promise-breaking Greek, 
The lord of France's lovely land, 
And Austria's duke, as strong of hand 

As he of wit is w T eak. 






CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. 37 

In a Templar's garb the king is drest, 
The white cross gleams upon his breast ; 

Safe in this strange disguise 
He hopes to join his lady dear, 
And read his welcome in the tear 

That bathes her gentle eyes. 

Look forth, look forth from England's shore ! 
Look forth, look forth, the far seas o'er ! 

When will his swift bark come ? 
Oh, swift and sure the bark should be 
Which bears across the willing sea 

Our wanderer to his home ! 

Take up, take up the strain of grief ! 
Lost is our warrior and our chief! 

Foes lurk'd upon his path : 
Nor close disguise, nor linked mail, 
Nor faith, nor chivalry avail 

To save him from their wrath. 

Captive he is ; but to what foe, 
Alas, his English do not know ! 

A dark and sunless gloom 
Hath closed above that noble head, 
As closeth o'er the newly dead 

The cold and changeless tomb ! 



LAY THE SECOND. 
THE COMPLAINT OF CCEUR DE LION IN HIS CAPTIVITY. 

I was a king of fearless might, 
I was a warrior and a knight ; 
My soul was like the morning light, 
So sparkling in its buoyancy ! 



38 LAYS AND BALLADS i 

I am a captive sad and lone, 
And all my glorious things are gone, 
Except the heart that is mine own, 
Unchanging in its royalty ! 

The crown that I was wont to wear, 
The robe of pride, the sceptre fair, — 
These are not mine, though mine they were,— 
Gone are the signs of majesty ! 

The sword that I was w r ont to wield, 
The dancing plume, the knightly shield, 
The clarion calling to the field, 
Are lost to my captivity ! 

Oh, that I were a simple hind, 
Slavish in toil, and weak in mind, 
So I might feel the morning wind 

Sweep o'er my forehead joyously ! 

The rills along my native plains 
Are murmuring forth their gladsome strains ; 
And the gay breeze that scorneth chains 
Is blowing fresh and wantonly ! 

The birds that skim my native air 
Are pouring forth sweet music there ; 
The woods are green, the hills are fair, 
While I am in captivity ! 

My strength is worn, my spirits sink, 
My heart does every thing but shrink ; 
Alas, my people, do ye think 
Upon your king regretfully ? 






CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. 39 

My queen, 1 my wife, my lady ! thou 
Of the blue eye and dazzling brow, 
Say, art thou weeping for me now, 
In sad and patient constancy ? 

Do ye remember me ? Oh, fast 
The weary months are gliding past : 
Will they bring liberty at last ? 
Or have ye all forgotten me ? 

Ah, friends ! if ye were thus distress'd, 
Thus chain'd, insulted, and oppress'd, 
Ye would not find this faithful breast 
So careless of your memory ! 

Ah, lady ! did a tear but steep 
Those moonlight eyes, so still and deep, 
Here is a heart, ere thou shouldst weep, 
That would rejoice to die for thee ! 

Hard is the lesson I must learn, 
How changeless faith meets false return ; 
The love I give I cannot earn 
As strong in its fidelity ! 

My God, for Thee my sword I drew ; 
Thy foes my strong arm overthrew ; 
Oh, do not Thou forget me too ; 
Give aid in mine extremity ! 

Upon Thy love my heart shall lean 
Even in my dungeon's gloomy scene ; 
Forgotten by my friends, my queen, 
In Thee I find sufficiency ! 

i Berengaria of Navarre, a princess of great beauty and gentleness. 

E 



40 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



LAY THE THIRD. 

THE LAMENT OF THE ENGLISH FOR THE CAFTIVITY OF CGEU.R 
DE LION. 

We have lost our hero-monarch, our lion-king is ta'en, 

Around his free and knightly limbs is bound the shame- 
ful chain ; 

The eye which used to marshal us is waxing faint and 
dim, 

For the light of day, which shines on us, is shut and 
barr'd from him. 

Alas, alas, for England ! our princely chief is lost ; 
And powerless is the mighty arm that hath struck 

down a host ; 
Our people hath no ruler, no tenant hath our throne ; 
And we know not where the euemy hath laid our 

glorious one. 

We have followed him to battle in the far-off eastern 
climes ; 

We have watch'd his matchless valour a thousand, thou- 
sand times ; 

We have seen the humbled Saracen kneel low to kiss 
his robe ; 

For his fame hath but one limit — the limit of the globe ! 

For his coronal of glory he won the brightest gem 
Where the stately palms are circling thy land, Jeru- 
salem ! 
The very air that fans thy domes is vocal with his name, 
And the pale cheek of each infidel pays tribute to his 
fame. 






CAPTIVITY OF CGSUR DE LION. 41 

His eye was like the lightning, his arm was like its 

stroke, 
When it shivers into shapeless dust the gnarl'd and 

massy oak ; 
His voice was like a trumpet with a challenge in its tone, 
Yet sweet as the wild lark that sings in field and forest 

lone. 

But now there is a fetter on that firm and noble hand, 
And mute is that imperial voice whose accent was com- 
mand ; 
That eye of bright authority is waxing faint and dim, 
For the beams of day, the breath of morn — all, all are 
barr'd from him ! 

Oh, is it wily Philip who have wrought thee this mis- 
chance, 

Because thine English banner did outstrip the flag of 
France ? 

Or is it specious Burgundy, that soft and carpet-knight, 

Because thy foot hath ever been before him in the fight ? 

Or is it craven Austria, who plann'd the false surprise, 
In vengeance for the lofty scorn of thine undaunted 

eyes? 
Well hath thy soul disdain' d him, and well thine eye 

hath spurn'd 
The cunning envy of the base, which in his spirit burn'd. 

Out on thee, recreant Austria ! in battle thou wouldst be 
Full glad to sue for mercy to the Lion on tby knee ; 
Thou art not meet to serve him as a squire or as a slave ; 
Alas, that craft and dastardy prevail against the brave ! 



42 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

We have sheath' d our useless weapons, we have flung 

our helmets down, 
Our steeds are uncaparison'd, our clarions are unblown ; 
Why should the glorious clarion sound, to cheer us on 

the foe ? 
Thou art not here to marshal us, so wherefore should 

we go ? 

All powerless are thy warriors — they know not where 
thou art ; 

They can but lock thy bitter wrongs within each burn- 
ing heart ; 

For thee the minstrel only his lay of mourning sings, 

Thou monarch of all heroes ! thou hero among kings ! 



CCEUR DE LION AND HIS HORSE. 43 



Coeur fee fUon anir tjts Horse. 

" Ah, Fanuel, my noble horse, thou bleedest — thou art 
slain ! 

Thou wilt never bear me to the chase or the battle- 
field again ! 

Thou wert a steed of peerless might, a steed of strength 
and glee ; 

Eight faithful wert thou to thy lord, and well thy lord 
loved thee. 

Thou wouldst answer, when I named thee, with a joyous 

neigh and proud, 
For thy voice was like a cymbal's, so exulting and so 

loud ; 
Thou wouldst arch thy neck, and stamp thy foot, for 

joy when I came near ; 
Thou wert eager to look lovely in the eyes of one so 

dear. 

If other knight dared ride thee, with gay and reckless 

bound, 
As a billow shakes the foam away, thou'dst toss him to 

the ground : 
Yet gentle wert thou in thy strength ; my lady-love 

might dare 
To twine her fingers in thy mane, as in a child's bright 

hair. 

Thou didst not start nor tremble at the sound of clash- 
ing swords ; 
Thy spirit in the battle was as eager as thy lord's ; 

e 2 



44 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Like him, thy fittest place was where the closing lines 

engage, 
When thou wouldst snort and shake thy mane, like a 

lion in his rage. 

A friend and a companion thou wert unto my heart ; 
Alas, alas, my noble steed, and is it thus we part ? 
Low on the ground, and lifeless, I see thy graceful 

head ; 
My voice awakes thee not, — by this, I know that thou 

art dead. 

I must leave thee on the burning sands, beneath the 

eastern sun, 
Like a worn and sleeping warrior whose battle-task is 

done ; 
Yet thou shalt not be forgotten by thy master and thy 

friend ; 
Where'er my name is known on earth, thy glory shall 

extend." 
King Richard thus lamented for his steed when it was 

slain ; 
But he turn'd him to the combat, and he drew his 

sword again ; 
" Take back thy barb, good Longsword ; l mount, 

mount, and be thou mute ; 
For I will not fight on horseback, if thou must fight 

a-foot." 

But the mighty sultan Saladin had watch'd our gallant 

king, 
How he bore him in the battle like an eagle on the 

wing; 
1 William, Earl of Salisbury, sumamed Longsword. 



CCEUR DE LION AND HIS HORSE. 45 

He saw his charger bleeding ; he saw the hero fight 
On foot amid his followers, a fearless-hearted knight. 

He bade a coal-black steed be brought, and to his page 

he spake, 
" Lead this to yonder chieftain — bid him ride it for my 



Fair courtesy beseemeth the lofty in degree ; 
And to honour such a hero, doth honour unto me." 

The page he bow'd full lowly, that courser's rein he 

took, 
And he led him where King Eichard had kneel'd beside 

a brook ; 
All heated with the battle, he had cast his helm aside, 
And he stoop'd to bathe his forehead in the cold and 

glassy tide. 

" king, the mighty Saladin hath sent this steed to 

thee;" 
Thus spake the page full humbly, and dropp'd upon his 

knee. 
King Richard smooth'd that charger's mane, and stroked 

his graceful head ; 
" Go thank your courteous master," right graciously 

he said. 

" Much shall I prize thee for his sake, my steed of 

glossy black i " 
With that he grasp'd the courser's mane, to leap upon 

his back : 
But Longs word came to check him, that brave and 

loyal count ; 
" Nay, nay, my liege — your pardon — let me try him 

ere you mount." 



46 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

" Who doubts the noble sultan's faith ?" King Richard 

sternly said ; 
But the earl was in the saddle ere the answer well was 

made : 
Oh, fair and knightly was his seat upon the gilded 

selle ; 
And he prick'd the charger's side, resolved to try his 

mettle well. 

The Arab feels a stranger's spur, a stranger's hand he 

knows ; 
Down to the dust right scornfully he bends his haughty 

brows ; 
Then tossing up his wrathful head, he scour'd across 

the plain, 
Like the wild bull of the jungle, in his fury and disdain. 

Away, away, with frantic speed, across the flying sand, 
He rushes like a torrent freed, uncheck'd by human 

hand ; 
Nor did he stay his headlong race until his path had 

crost, 
Like a flash of summer lightning, the Paynim's startled 

host. 

He came to where the sultan stood, his ancient master 

dear. 
And there he paused ; and sweet it was his joyous neigh 

to hear ; 
He laid his head right lovingly against the sultan's 

breast, 
With wistful and expectant eyes that asked to be 

caress'd. 



CXEUR DE LION AND HIS HORSE. 47 

Oh, deeply blush'd brave Saladin ! he blush' d for noble 

shame, 
Lest the stain of such a stratagem should light upon his 

fame ; 
He bent full low his turban'd brow, and scarce his eyes 

could lift, 
As he craved of good Earl William a pardon for his 

gift. 

"Now grieve not, gallant sultan," quoth the earl in 
earnest tone ; 

" For the great heart of KiDg Eichard is noble as thine 
own : 

No doubt is in his confidence ; as soon would he be- 
lieve 

That he could be dishonour' d, as that thou couldst thus 
deceive." 

Of joyous heart was Saladin that thus the earl should 

say; 
He bade his slaves caparison a steed of silver-grey ; 
And with many a phrase of courtesy, and many a fair 

excuse, 
He sent that docile charger for good King Richard's 

use. 

To that steed, in fair remembrance of the sultan true 

and brave, 
The stately name of Saladin our gallant monarch gave. 
Thus to his foe each warrior-king was courteous as a 

brother : 
Oh, thus should generous enemies do honour to each 

other ! 



48 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Reign of King John, 1199-1216. 



Cfje lag of tfje feariegg Be €ourcp. 

The fame of the fearless De Courcy 

Is boundless as the air ; 
With his own right hand he won the land 

Of Ulster, green and fair ! 
But he lieth low in a dungeon now, 

Powerless, in proud despair ; 
For false King John hath cast him in, 

And closely chain'd him there. 

The noble knight was weary 

At morn, and eve, and noon ; 
For chilly bright seem'd dawn's soft light, 

And coldly shone the moon : 
No gleaming mail gave back the rays 

Of the dim unfriendly sky, 
And the proud free stars disdain'd to gaze 

Through his lattice, barr'd and high. 

But when the trumpet-note of war 

Eang through his narrow room, 
Telling of banners streaming far, 

Of knight, and steed, and plume ; 
Of the wild melee, and the sabre's clash, 

How would his spirit bound ! 
Yet ever after the lightning's flash 

Night closeth darker round. 



THE FEARLESS DE C0URC7. 49 

Down would he sink on the floor again, 

Like the pilgrim who sinks on some desert plain, 

Even while his thirsting ear can trace 

The hum of distant streams ; 
Or the maimed hound, who hears the chase 

Sweep past him in his dreams. 

The false king sate in his hall of state 

'Mid knights and nobles free ; 
" Who is there," he cried, "who will cross the tide, 

And do battle in France for me ? 
There is cast on mine honour a fearful stain, 
The death of the boy who ruled Bretagne ; ! 
And the monarch of France, my suzerain, 
Hath bidden a champion for me appear, 
My fame from this darkning blot to clear. 
Speak — is your silence the silence of fear, 
My knights and my nobles 1 Frowning and pale 
Your faces grow as I tell my tale ! 
Is there not one of this knightly ring 
Who dares do battle for his king ?" 

The warriors they heard, but they spake not a word ; 

The earth some gazed upon, 
And some did raise a stedfast gaze 

To the face of false King John. 
Think ye they fear'd 1 They were Englishmen all, 
Though mutely they stood in their monarch's hall ; 
The heroes of many a well-fought day, 
Who loved the sound of a gathering fray, 
Even as the lonely shepherd loves 
The herd's soft bell in the mountain-groves. 

1 Prince Arthur of Brittany, whose melancholy fate has been too 
often the theme of song and story to require notice here. 



50 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Why were they silent ? There was not one 
Who could trust the word of false King John ; 
And their cheeks grew pallid as they thought 
On the deed of blood by his base hand wrouglt ; 
Pale, with a brave heart's generous fear, 
When forced a tale of shame to hear. 

'Twas a coward whiteness then did chase 
The glow of shame from the false king's face ; 
And he turn'd aside, in bootless pride, 
That witness of his guilt to hide ; 
Yet every heart around him there 
Witness against him more strongly bare ! 

Oh, out then spake the beauteous queen : 1 

" A captive lord I know, 
Who3e loyal heart hath ever been 

Eager to meet the foe ; 
Were true De Courcy here this day, 

Freed from his galling chain, 
Never, oh never, should scoffers say, 
That, amid all England's rank and might, 
Their king had sought him a loyal knight, 

And sought such knight in vain !" 
Up started the monarch, and clear'd his brow, 
And bade them summon De Courcy now. 
Swiftly his messengers hasted away, 
And sought the cell where the hero lay ; 
They bade him arise at his master's call, 
And follow their steps to the stately hall. 

He is brought before the council, — 
There are chains upon his hands ; 

1 Isabella of Angouleme, wife to King John, celebrated for her beauty 
and high spirit. 



THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. 51 

With his silver hair, that aged knight, 

Like a rock overhung with foam-clouds white, 

Proudly and calmly stands. 
He gazes on the monarch 

With a stern and starlike eye ; 
And the company muse and marvel much, 
That the light of the old man's eye is such, 

After long captivity. 
His fetters hang upon him 

Like an unheeded thing ; 
Or like a robe of purple, worn 
With graceful and indifferent scorn 

By some great-hearted king. 
And strange it was to witness 

How the false king look'd aside ; 
For he dared not meet his captive's eye ! 
Thus ever the spirit's royalty 

Is greater than pomp and pride ! 



The false king spake to his squires around, 

And his lifted voice had an angry sound ; 

" Strike ye the chains from each knightly limb ! 

Who was so bold as to fetter him ? 

Warrior, believe me, no hest of mine 

Bade them fetter a form like thine ; 

Thy sovereign knoweth thy fame too well." 

He paused, and a cloud oh his dark brow fell ; 

For the knight still gazed upon him, 

And his eye was like a star ; 
And the words on the lips of the false king died, 
Like the murmuring sounds of an ebbing tide 

By the traveller heard afar. 



52 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

From the warrior's form they loosed the chain ; 
His face was lighted with calm disdain ; 
Nor cheek, nor lip, nor eye, gave token 
Even that he knew his chains were broken. 
He spake — no music, loud or clear, 

Was in the voice of the grey-hair'd knight ; 
But a low stern sound, like that ye hear 

In the march of a mail-clad host by night. 
" Brother of Cceur de Lion," said he, 
" These chains have not dishonoured me \" 
There was crushing scorn in each simple word, 
Mightier than battle-axe or sword. 

Not long did the heart of the false king thrill 

To the touch of passing shame, 
For it was hard, and mean, and chill ; 
As breezes sweep o'er a frozen rill, 
Leaving it cold and unbroken still, — 

That feeling went and came ; 
And now to the knight he made reply, 
Pleading his cause right craftily ; 
SkilPd was his tongue in specious use 
Of promise fair and of feign'd excuse, 
Blended with words of strong appeal 
To love of fame and to loyal zeal. 
At length he ceased ; and every eye 
Gazed on De Courcy wistfully. 
" Speak !" cried the king in that fearful pause ; 
" Wilt thou not champion thy monarch's cause?" 

The old knight struck his foot on the ground, 
Like a war-horse hearing the trumpet sound ; 
And he spake with a voice of thunder, 
Solemn and fierce in tone, 



I 



THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. 53 

Waving his hand to the stately band 

Who stood by the monarch's throne, 
As a warrior might wave his flashing glaive 

When cheering his squadrons on ; 
" I will fio-ht for the honour of England, 

Though not for false King John V 

He turn'd and strode from the lofty hall, 

Nor seem'd to hear the sudden cheer 
Which burst, as he spake, from the lips of all. 
And when he stood in the air without, 
He paused as if in joyful doubt ; 
To the forests green and the wide blue sky 
Stretching his arms embracingly, 
With stately tread and uplifted head, 
As a good steed tosses back his mane 
When they loose his neck from the servile rein : 
Ye know not, ye who are always free, 
How precious a thing is liberty ! 
" O world !" he cried ; " sky, river, hill ! 
Ye wear the garments of beauty still ; 
How have ye kept your youth so fair, 1 
While age has whitenM this hoary hair V- 

But when the squire, who watch ; d his lord, 
Gave to his hand his ancient sword, 
The hilt he pressed to his eager breast, 

Like one who a long-lost friend hath met ; 
And joyously said, as he kiss'd the blade, 

" Methinks there is youth in my spirit yet. 
For France ! for France ! o'er the waters blue ; 
False king, dear land, adieu, adieu !" 

1 The reader of German will here recognise an exquisite stanza from 
Uhland, very inadequately rendered. 



54 LAYS a:nd ballads. 

He hath cross'd the booming ocean, 

On the shore he plants his lance ; 
And he sends his daring challenge 

Into the heart of France : 
" Lo, here I stand for England, 

Queen of the silver main ! 
To guard her fame and to cleanse her name 

From slander's darkening stain ! 
Advance, advance ! ye knights of France ; 

Give answer to my call ! 
Lo, here I stand for England ! 

And I defy ye all!" 

From the east and the north came champions forth — 

They came in a knightly crowd ; 
From the south and the west each generous breast 

Throbb'd at that summons proud. 
But though brave was each lord, and keen each sword, 

No warrior could withstand 
The strength of the hero-spirit 

Which nerved that old man's hand. 
He is conqueror in the battle ; 

He hath won the wreath of bay ; 
To the shining crown of his fair renown 

He hath added another ray ; 
He hath drawn his sword for England ; 

He hath fought for her spotless name ; 
And the isle resounds to her farthest bounds 

With her grey-hair' d hero's fame. 
In the ears of the craven monarch 

Oft must this burthen ring, — 
" Though the crown be thine and the royal line, 

He is in heart thy king !" 



THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. 55 

So tliey gave this graceful honour 

To the bold De Courcy's race, 
That they ever should dare their helms to wear 

Before the king's own face : 
And the sons of that line of heroes 

To this day their right assume ; 
For, when every head is unbonneted, 1 

They walk in cap and plume ! 

1 The present representative of the house of De Courcy is Lord 
Kinsale. 



f2 



56 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



&\)t SLament of Eleanor of 33retagne. 

[Eleanor was so beautiful that she was called " The Pearl of Brittany." 
She was the sister of Prince Arthur ; and after the murder of her brother 
she was imprisoned in Bristol Castle by the cruel and tyrannical John, 
where she died after a captivity of many years.] 



" Comfort me, O my God ! 

Mine only hope Thou art! 
The strokes of Thine afflicting rod 

Fall heavy on my heart. 
Oh, who would wish to live 

When life's bright flowers decay 
Oh, had I power to give 

This weight of life away ! 

Comfort me, O my God ! 



Thou didst Thyself endure 

Full many a bitter pang ; 
Thou, the All-holy, the All-pure, 

Upon the cross didst hang. 
My feet are on the track 

Trodden erewhile by Thine ; — 
Ah, do not cast me back 

On this weak heart of mine ! 

Comfort me, O my God ! 

I will pour forth my woes 

Into Thy pitying ear. 
Stern, stern must be the hearts of those 

Whose hands confined me here ; 



ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE. 57 

In the morning of my days, 

In the spring of guiltless mirth, 
Never again to gaze 

Free on the gladsome earth ! 

Comfort me, O my God ! 

'Twas said that I was fair 

As the white gem of the sea ; 
They named me, in my native air, 

The Pearl of Brittany : 
At tourneys have I been, 

And they chose me, far and near, 
To reign the tourney's queen, — 

I, the poor captive here. 

Comfort me, O my God! 

But I do not now regret 

My splendour, doomed to fade ; 
My changing beauty I forget ; — 

But oh, the wood's deep shade, 
The free bird's gushing songs, 

The sound of murmuring seas, — 
For these my spirit longs, 

And for dearer things than these* 
Comfort me, O my God ! 

I had a brother then, 

Whose place was in my heart $— ■ 
Oh, give me my beloved again, 

And freedom may depart ! 
How shall I breathe the tone 

Of that name, — the lost — the dear ? 
Arthur ! mine own, mine own ! — 



58 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Alas, thou canst not hear ! 

Comfort me, O my God ! 

They murder' d him by night. 

In the sweetness of his youth, 
His brow all bright with boyhood's light, 

Clear as the beams of truth. 
Falaise, thy walls, Falaise, 

Behold a fearful thing, 
For his brother's child a brother slays, 

And a traitor stabs his king ! 

Comfort me, O my God ! 

Yes, king thou shouldst have been 

Of this isle of high renown ; 
But death's wide gulf is now between 

Thee and thy thorny crown. 
My brother ! thou wert mine ! 

Of crowns I little reck ; 
But, oh, that I could twine 

These arms about thy neck! 

Comfort me, O my God ! 

Sleep on, sweet Arthur, sleep 

In thy calm and happy grave ; 
How couldst thou bear to see me weep, 

And not have power to save ? 
Farewell ! And shall I waste 

"My weary life away 
In weeping for the past ? 

No ! let me kneel and pray. 

Comfort me, O my God !" 

That wailing voice hath ceased, 
It melted into tears ; 



ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE. 59 

And death's sure hand the maid released, 

After long mournful years. 
In her beauty and her bloom 

She was borne to that dark hold ; 
Thence was she carried to her tomb, 

Grey-hair'd, and wan, and old ! 



GO LAYS AND LALLADS. 



Reign of Henry III., 1216-1272. 



&\)t \hi\\tt an& tljc Otitlato. 

Oh, it was our gallant Prince Edward 

Rode forth into Alton wood ; 
His plume was white, his sword was bright, 

His heart was brave and good ; 
He saw the sunlight through the trees, 

Checkering the grassy earth ; 
He felt the breath of the summer breeze, 

And his spirit was full of mirth. 

It was there he met with a stranger knight; 
Full haughty was his face, 

His eye spoke scorn, though his mail was worn, 

And stately was his pace. 
u Now who art thou, of the darksome brow, 

Who wanderest here so free V 9 
" Oh, I'm one that will walk the wild green woods, 

And never ask leave of thee." 

" How now, thou churl ?" quoth the angry prince, 

" Ask pardon on thy knee ! 
I am England's heir, of my wrath beware, 

Or ill shall it fare with thee." 
" Art thou England's heir?" quoth the outlaw bold ; 

" Well, if thy words be true, 
I see not why such a knight as I 

Should fear for such as you. 



THE PRINCE AND THE OUTLAW. 61 

I am Adam de Gordon, a noble free ; 

Perchance thou hast heard my name." 
" I have heard it, I trow (quoth the prince), and thou 

Art a traitor of blackest fame. 
Yield thee to me !" But the outlaw cried, 

" Now, if thou knowest not fear, 
Out with thy sword ! by a good knight's word, 

I will give thee battle here." 

" Come on !" cried that prince of dauntless heart * 

" Yet pause while I alight, 
For I never will play the craven's part, 

At odds with thee to fight." 
He sprang from his steed, he drew his blade, 

And a terrible fray began, 
The very first stroke that Prince Edward made, 

Blood from the Gordon ran. 

At the second stroke that Prince Edward made, 

The Gordon fell on his knee ; 
But he did not kneel to cry for aid — 

Of a loftier heart was he. 
To his feet he sprang, and the angry clang 

Of their flashing swords did sound 
Far through the green and solemn woods 

Stretching in beauty round. 

The Gordon is pale, and his strength doth fail, 

And his blood is ebbing fast, 
But the spirit so high, in his flashing eye, 

Is dauntless to the last. 
He hath struck the prince on his mailed breast, 

But the prince laugh' d scornfully ; 
" Ob, was it the wood-breeze stirr'd ray vest, 

Or a leaf from yonder tree P 



62 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

There is bitter grief in the Gordon's eye, 

For he feels his strength depart ; 
It is not that he fears to die — 

To be conquered grieves his heart ; 
He sinks, like a gallant ship o'erthrown 

By the blast and the driving surf; 
" I yield me not /" is his last faint tone, 

As he falls on the trampled turf. 

The prince was proud as a reinless steed — 

Pride is an evil thing — 
But the heart he bore was a heart indeed, 

Right worthy of a king : 
He sheath' d his blade, he sprang to aid 

The Gordon as he lay ; 
" "Rise up," cried he, u my valorous foe, 

Thou hast borne thee well to-day." 

He kneel'd by his side, he stanch'd the tide 

Of life-blood flowing free ; 
With his scarf he bound each gaping wound 

Softly and tenderly : 
He lifted the Gordon on his steed, 

Himself he held the rein : 
" I hold thee," he said, " for a knight indeed, 

And I give thee thy life again." 

There was bitter grief in the Gordon's eye ; 

He fears not chains nor death, 
But he weeps for broken loyalty 

And for forgotten faith. 
Humbly he bent his knightly head 

With a changed and gentle brow : 
" Oh, pardon ! I yield, I yield !" he said ; 

" I am truly conquer' d now." 



THE PRINCE AND THE OUTLAW. 63 

Behold how mercy softeneth still 

The haughtiest heart that beats ; 
Pride with disdain may be answer'd again, 

But pardon at once defeats. 
The brave man felt forgiveness melt 

A heart by fear unshaken ; 
He was ready to die for his loyalty 

To the prince he had forsaken. 

Prince Edward hath brought him to Guilford Tower 

Ere that summer's day is o'er ; 
He hath led him in to the secret bower 

Of his fair wife Alianore ; ! 
His mother, the lady of gay Provence, 2 

And his sire, the king, were there : 
Oh, scarcely the Gordon dared advance 

In a presence so stately and fair. 

But the prince hath kneel' d at his father's feet, — 

For the Gordon's life he sues ; 
His lady so fair, she join'd his prayer ; 

And how should the king refuse ? 
Can he his own dear son withstand, 

So duteous, brave, and true ; 
And the loveliest lady in all the land 

Kneeling before him too ? 

" My children, arise !" the old king said, 

And a tear was in his eye ; 
He laid his hand on each bright young head, 

And he bless'd them fervently. 

1 Alianore, or Eleonora, princess of Castile. 

2 Eleanor of Provence, wife to King Henry the Third. 



64 LAYS AND BALLADS, 

u With a joyful heart I grant your prayer, 

And I bid the Gordon live ; 
Oh, the happiest part of a monarch's care 

Is to pity and forgive." 

Then spake the queen so fair and free, — 

" The Gordon I will make 
Steward of my royal house," quoth she, 

" For these dear children's sake." 
May every prince be as generous 

(Be this our prayer to Heaven) ; 
And may every gallant rebel thus 

Repent and be forgiven. 



DEATH OF KING HENRY III. 65 



Reign of Edward I., 1272-1307. 



&f)e 30eatf) of Ifctng Hktwxib tfje &invo\ 

At Sicily's court Prince Edward sate, 

Of a joyous heart was lie, 
For he came from afar from the holy war, 

From battle and victory. 
There strode a messenger into the hall, 

He kneeFd upon his knee ; 
" What news dost thou bring," quoth Sicily's king, 

" From the fair isle of the sea ?" 

" I come to Prince Edward," the messenger cried, 

" And with heavy news I come ; 
For at eventide his young son died — 

He died in his English home !" 
Fair Elinore wrings her lily hands 

In a mother's bitter woe ; 
But firm and grave Prince Edward stands, 

Like a knight who meets his foe. 

" Take comfort, Alianore, my wife, 

Submit thee to this pain ; 
For it is but the God who giveth life 

Recalling His gift again." 
Oh, not the less fair Elinore weeps, 

Her lips can speak no word ; 
But her dark eyes raise their tearful gaze 

Up to her stedfast lord. 

Another step on the marble floor ; 
'Tis the prince's page, I trow — 



66 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

His page who fought on the Syrian shore ; 

He cometh sad and slow. 
Fair Elinore rose in hope and fear; 

Wildly that page she met, 
It was as though she hoped to hear 

That her child was living yet. 

" Ah, master mine," the sad page said, 

" God smite th oft and sore ; 
Thy little daughter dear is dead !" 

He could not utter more. 
Fair Elinore raised one bitter wail, 

And she swoon'd upon the ground ; 
Prince Edward's face grew somewhat pale, 

But he did not breathe a sound. 

And mute he stood for a moment's space, 

Then slow and calmly spake, 
" Bear ye the princess from the place, 

Her gentle heart will break ; 
Tend her with care, and comfort her." 

Then to the king said he, 
" My lord, I grieve thy festal eve 

Should thus be marr'd for me." 

Oh, greatly marvell'd Sicily's lord 

His stately air to see ; 
He dared not speak one pitying word, 

But he watch'd him reverently. 
Silent were all in the royal hall ; 

Not a breath was heard, until 
A footstep fell like death's slow knell, 

And every heart stood still. 



DEATH OF KTNG HENRY III. 67 

A squire kneel' d lowly on the floor, 

And he spake in humble tone, 
" Henry of England breathes no more ; 

Thine are the crown and throne." 
A sudden change o'er the prince's brow 

Like a cloud's swift shadow swept ; 
The strength of his heart forsook him now — 

He hid his face and wept. 

Oh, greatly marveil'd Sicily's king 

When the hero's tears he saw ; 
From a warrior-soul those tears did spring, 

And the king stood mute with awe ; 
But at last he spake : u O valorous prince, 

llight strangely hast thou done; 
Thou didst shed no tear for thy daughter dear! 

Thou weepedst not for thy son ! 

But now 7 thine aged sire is dead, 

Like a worn-out pilgrim sleeping, 
Though he leaves a crown for thy royal head, 

Thou like a child art weeping !" 
His noble face did Prince Edward raise, 

And his tears became him now, 
Like dew r -drops sheen on the laurel green 

When it binds a conqueror's brow. 

" Ah, king," he said, u when infants die, 

We mourn but for a day ; 
For God can restore as many more, 

Lovely and loved as they 3 
But when a noble father dies, 

Our tears pour forth like rain ; 
Once from high Heaven is a father given, 

Once — and, oh, never again !" 

g2 



68 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Reign of Edward II., 1307-1327. 



&lje tournament. 

The churches twelve of Wallingford, 

A stately sight they were, 
When gleaming shields were hanging 

From every column fair ; 
For a mile around the city 

Earth's altered face was bright 
With banner and pavilion, 

With steed, and squire, and knight. 

For King Edward holds a tournament ; 

His heralds, far and near, 
Have borne the joyous message 

To baron, prince, and peer. 
They are coming in by thousands ; 

Woe to that warrior's fame 
Whose knightly shield its place must yield 

At the wand's light touch of shame ! 

The airs of heaven were wearied, 

Long ere that morning shone, 
With the sounds of clashing armour 

And the horn's exulting tone ; 
Through many a woodland avenue, 

Up many a grassy slope, 
Came troops of glittering horsemen, 

All gay with knightly hope. 



THE TOURNAMENT. 69 

And serfs forsake their labour. 

And ladies leave their bowers ; 
They gather like the bees in June 

Round incense-breathing flowers. 
The lists are fairly ordered, 

And every heart beats high 
When the clarion's thrilling summons 

Tells that the hour is nigh. 

They have left each gay pavilion, 

They are moving o'er the plain ; 
There rides Sir Piers de Gaveston, 

Chief of a king-like train : 
By his proud and stately bearing, 

By his fair and rich array, 
Ye might take him for a monarch 

Upon his crowning day ; 
But like to plants that wither 

In the hot sirocco's path, 
So every face he passes 

Grows pale with sudden wrath. 
Ah, little seest thou, Gaveston, 

With thy bright and reckless eye, 
The doom that is before thee, 

And the death that thou must die ! 

Yet the scowling gloom of Pembroke, 

And Warwick's haughty glance, 
The mutter'cl curse of Arundel, 

And Evreux' look askance, 
The sullen frown of Lancaster, 

And Warren's wrathful mien, 
The bright and angry blushes 

On the fair cheeks of the queen ; 



70 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Her eye's disdainful beauty 

As she pass'd the foe she scorn'd — 

These might have warned that boaster : 
He was not to be warn'd ! 

And there rode hapless Edward, 

A graceful prince and nay ; 
But weakness in his ready laugh 

And his eye's uncertain ray ; 
Who dream'd, that saw his maiden-grasp 

On his palfrey's broider'd reins, 
That the blood of the old Plantagenets 

Was running in his veins! 

And there rode fair Queen Isabelle, 

A girl scarce fifteen years ; 
Like a swan on a breezeless river, 

Her snowy neck she rears ; 
Her beauty's proud magnificence 

Was matchless in the world, 
But ah ! beneath its sweet rose-wreath 

Lay the dread serpent curl'd. 
Her smile of treacherous softness, 

Her dark and glittering eye, 
Were like a slumbering tempest 

In the depths of a tropic sky. 

On moved the gay procession, 

And many a dame did lead. 
By the shining rein of a silver chain, 

Her warrior's pacing steed ; 
Each mantle gemm'd floats gaily^ 

Each courser stamps and fumes, 
'Tis a heaving sea, whose billows free 

Are banners and dancing plumes. 



THE TOUKNAMENT. 71 

Oh, for the tongue of a minstrel 

To tell in lightning words 
The deeds of that glorious tournament, 

The fame of those flashing swords ! 
How a fair and a queenly circle 

Beheld the knights engage, 
Like clear stars watching stedfastly 

The foaming ocean's rage ; 
And amid those brows of beauty 

Lofty and calm arose 
The head of some ancient hero 

Wearing its crown of snows ; 
'Twas a thrilling sight to witness 

Each worn-out warrior's gaze 
On a strife where he must not mingle, 

On the deeds of his younger days. 

Like walls of glittering armour 

At first the champions stand, 
As the Red Sea stood when its raging flood 

Was cleft by God's own hand. 
And the crash of their strong ranks charging 

Arose when they met on the plain, 
Like the roar of those bursting waters 

Hushing together again. 

Hark, how the watchful heralds 

The shouts of their onset gave, 
" Charge, warriors ! Death to horses ! 

Fame to the sons of the brave !" 
Those shouts are rising louder 

At every well-aim' d blow, 
Or whenever a lance is shiver'd 

Fairly on breast or brow. 



72 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

The air is full of battle, 

It is full of the trumpets' sound, 
Of the tramp of clashing horses, 

And the cries of the crowd around ; 
The earth is strown with splendour, 

It is strown with fair plumes torn, 
With glove, and scarf, and streamer, 

For the love of ladies worn ; 
But each maiden watch'd her champion, 

And oft her white hands sent 
Fresh gifts for every token 

That was lost in the tournament. 
Oh ! with such eyes above them, 

Such voices to cheer the strife, 
No marvel those warriors tilted 

Like men who are tilting for life ! 

But at length the sports are over ! 

Changed was the joyous scene, 
When many a knight lay gasping, 

Unhorsed upon the green ; 
Their squires are near to raise them, 

They bear them soft and slow, 
And loving eyes all mournful 

Attend them as they go. 
Not oft was life in danger ; 

Yet might those sweet eyes grieve 
That in their sight their own true knight 

Should not the wreath receive. 

Now shout ye for the victor ! 

The warrior to whose sword 
Lady, and prince, and herald 

The prize of fame award ! 



THE TOURNAMENT. 73 

Doubt not his heart is thrilling 

Thus on the turf to kneel, 
While lovely hands unloose the bands 

That clasp his helm of steel ! 
While every lip is busy 

With the honour of his name, 
And with glowing cheeks each good knight speaks 

The story of his fame ! 
Dear are thy gifts, O glory ! 

Dear is thy crown unstahVd, 
When the true heart bears witness 

That it was nobly gain'd I 

Room for the queen ! she cometh 

To grace the conqueror now, 
With a chaplet of green laurel 

She stoops to wreath his brow ! 
A kiss — a gem — a garland — 

These hath his good lance won, 
And the king's own lips give honour 

To the deeds that he hath done. 
With dance, and song, and banquet, 

The festive day shall close, 
Till, wearied out with pleasure, 

The warriors seek repose. 
Yet lasts the giddy revel 

Till the shining east grows pale,— 
Ah, what a bright beginning 

For such a darksome tale ! 
Even then the storm had gathered 

Which should burst in coming years, 
For the reign of the second Edward 

Was a reten of blood and tears ! 



74 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Reign of Edward III., 132M377. 



<EJje Blarft |)vinre of (Englanfc. 

I'll tell you a tale of a knight, my boy, 

The bravest that ever was known ; 
A lion he was in the fight, my boy, 
A lamb when the battle was done. 
Oh, he need not be named ; for who has not heard 
Of the glorious son of King Edward the Third ? 

Armour he wore as black as jet ; 
His sword was keen and good ; 
He conquered every foe he met, 

And he spared them when subdued. 
Valiant and generous, and gentle and bold, 
Was the Black Prince of England in days of old. 

Often he charged with spear and lance 
At the head of his valorous knights ; 
But the battle of Poictiers, won in France, 
Was the noblest of all his fights ; 
And every British heart should be 
Proud when it thinks of that victory. 

The Ereneh were many — the English few; 

But the Black Prince little heeded : 
His knights, he knew, were brave and true ; 
Their arms were all he needed. 
He ask'd not how many might be the foe ; 
Where are they ? was all that he sought to know. 









THE BLACK PHIXCE. 70 

So he spurred his steed, and he couch' d his lance, 

And the battle was won and lost ; 
Captive he took King John of France, 
The chief of that mighty host : 
Faint grew the heart of each gallant foe ; 
Their leader was taken ; their hopes were low. 

Brave were the French ; but at last they yield, 

All wearied and worn out : 
The prince is conqueror of the field ; 
And the English soldiers shout, 
" God save our prince, our mighty lord ! 
Victory waiteth on his sword !" 

Of all the knights who fought that day, 

James Audley was the best ; 
His wounds were three, won valiantly, 
On cheek, and brow, and breast : 
And the Black Prince said, when the fight was o'er, 
He never had seen such a knight before. 

And did they chain King John of France ? 

Was he in dungeon laid ? 
Oh, little ye know what a generous foe 
Our English Edward made ! 
A gentle heart, and an arm of might — 
These are the things that make a knight. 

He set King John on a lofty steed, 

White as the driven snow, 
And without all pride he rode beside, 
On a palfrey slight and low : 
He spoke to the king with a reverent mien, 
As though the king had his captor been. 

H 



76 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

He treated King John like an honoured guest ; 

When at the feast lie sate, 
With courteous air, and with forehead bare, 
The prince did on him wait ; 
And even when they to England came, 
Our generous hero was the same. 

Bat the prisoner's heart it grew not light, 

For all the prince could say ; 
A captive king and a conquered knight, 
Oh, Iioav could he be gay ? 
E'en while his courteous words were speaking, 
For his own dear France his heart was breaking. 

Another lay shall the story tell 

Of this valiant king and true : 
He loved the Black Prince passing well, 
And his worth full well he knew. 
Then let us all unite to praise 
That hero of the olden days. 

The Romans, when they won the day 

And bore their captives home, 
Caused them to march in sad array, 
Fetter'd and chained, through Rome ; 
And every foe, though good and brave, 
They held as victim or as slave. 

But ours was a Christian conqueror, 

Generous, and true, and kind : 
Though the grave has now closed o'er his brow, 
He hath left this rule behind, — 
That valour should ever wedded bo 
To mercy, and not to cruelty. 



CAPTIVITY OF KING JOHN OF FRANCE. 77 



ftfje £aptunti> of Ittucj Sofjn of JFrance. 

" In mine own land the sun shines bright, 

The morning breeze blows fair ; 
I must not look upon that light, 

I must not feel that air. 
The chain is heavy on my heart, 

Although my limbs are free : 
A bitter, bitter loss thou art, 

O precious liberty !" 

It was King John lamented thus, 

With many a mournful word ; 
But gentle, kind, and chivalrous, 

Was the heart of him who heard : 
The Black Prince came — he loved to bring 

Comfort and sweet relief, 
So he spake softly to the king, 

And strove to soothe his grief. 

" Now cheer thee, noble friend I" he said ; 

" Right bravely diclst thou fight ; 
Thine honour is untarnished ; 

Thou art a stainless knight. 
That man should ne'er desponding be 

Who winneth fame in strife ; 
'Tis a better thing than liberty, 

A better thing than life. 

I grant thee one full year," he said ; 

" For a year thou shalt be free : 
Go back to France, and there persuade 

Thy lords to ransom thee. 



LAYS AND BALLADS. 

But if thy ransom they refuse, 

And do not heed thy pain, 
Our realm must not its captive lose — 

Thou must return again. 

So pledge me now thy royal word, 

And pledge it solemnly, 
That thou, the captive of my sword, 

Wilt faithful be to me." 
The king lie pledged his royal faith — 

He pledged it gladsomely ; 
He promised to be true till death : 

Of joyous heart was he. 

Then did those generous foes embrace 

Closely as brethren might, — 
" Farewell, and God be with your grace ;"- 

" Farewell, thou peerless knight." 
The wind was fair, the sea was blue, 

The sky without a speck, 
When the good ship o'er the waters flew, 

With King John upon its deck. 

With eager hope his heart beat high 

When he sprang on his own dear shore ; 
But sad and downcast was his eye 

Ere one brief month was o'er. 
Glad were the lords of lovely France 

When they beheld their king ; 
But, oh ! how alter'd was their glance, 

When he spoke of ransoming ! 

They told of wasted revenues, 

Of fortunes waxing low ; 
And when their words did not refuse, 

Their looks said plainly, " No." 



CAPTIVITY OF KING JOHN OF FRANCE. 

Sore grew the heart of that good king, 

As closed the winter drear : 
And when the rose proclaimed the spring, 

He haiPd it with a tear. 

For the year was gliding fast away, 

And gold he could not gain, 
And honour summon' d him to pay 

His freedom back again. 
And now the summer-noon is bright, 

The warm breeze woos the scent 
From thousand roses red and white — 

The year is fully spent ! 

" Paris, farewell, thou stately town ! 

Farewell, my woods and plains ! 
Farewell, my kingdom and my crown ! 

And welcome, English chains ! 
Trim, trim the bark, and hoist the sail, 

And bid my train advance, 
I have found that loyal faith may fail — 

I leave thee, thankless France. ' ? 

These bitter words spake good King John ; 

But his liegemen counsel gave : 
" What recks it that the year is gone ? 

There yet is time to save. 
Thou standest yet on thine own good land, 

Forget thy plighted word, — 
Remain ! and to thy foe's demand 

We'll answer with the sword." 

But the good King John spake firm and bold ; 
And oh ! his words should be 



80 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Graven in characters of gold 

On each heart's memory : 
" Were truth disowned by all mankind, 

A scorned and banished tiling, 
A resting-place it still should find 

In the breast of every king." 

Again the good ship cleaves the sea 

Before a favouring air, 
But it beareth to captivity, 

And not to freedom fair. 
Yet when King John set foot on land, 

Sad lie could scarcely be, 
For the Black Prince took him by the hand, 

And welcomed him courteously. 

To Savoy Castle he was brought, 

With fair and royal state: 
Full many a squire, in rich attire, 

Did on his pleasure wait. 
They did not as a prisoner hold 

That noble king and true, 
But as dear guest, whose high behest 

; Twas honour and joy to do. 

Of treaty and of ransom then 

The prince and he had speech ; 
Like friends and fellow-countrymen, 

Great was the love of each ; 
No angry thought — no gesture proud, 

Not a hasty word they spoke, 
But a brotherhood of heart they vowed, 

And its bond they never broke. 



CAPTIVITY OF KING JOHN OF FRANCE. 81 

In Savoy Castle died King John — 

They buried him royally ; 
And grief through all the land is gone 

That such a knight should die. 
And the prince was wont to say this thing 

Whene'er his name was spoken, — 
" He was a warrior and a king 

Whose word was never broken." 



82 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



$$e 3ft i3uv$rtev3 of (Salate, 

The burghers six of Calais, 

True were they and brave ; 
To save their fellow-townsmen 

Their lives they freely gave. 
Will ye hear their story ? 

Come listen to my lay, 
I will tell ye of King Edward, 

The gallant and the gay. 

Edward the Third of England, 
A mighty prince was he ; 

To win the town of Calais 
He hath cross'd the sea, 

With all his gallant nobles, 
And all his soldiers brave, — 

They were a stately party 
To ride upon the wave ! 

Around the walls of Calais 

They waited many a day, 
Till the king's right royal spirit 

Grew weary of delay : 
His eagerness avail' d notj 

The city still held out : 
The king grew very angry, 

But still the walls were stout. 

The fury of a monarch 
A stone wall cannot rend, 

As little is it able 

A lofty heart to bend ; 



THE SIX BURGHERS OF CALAIS. 83 

But a mightier than King Edward 

AssaiPd those stedfast men, — 
The slow strong hand of Famine 

.Was closing on them then. 

The feeble ones grew feebler, 

The mighty ones grew weak ; 
Dim was each eye, though dauntless, 

And pale was every cheek : 
But round about the city 

That ruthless army stayed, 
So to their fainting hunger 

No food might be conveyed. 

The governor of Calais, 1 

A stalwart knight was he, 
For his king and for his country 

He had fought right valiantly ; 
But he found his valour useless, 

And he saw his soldiers die, 
So he came before the English, 

And spake with dignity : 

" What terms, what terms, King Edward, 

What terms wilt thou accord, 
If I yield this goodly city 

To own thee for its lord ?" 
King Edward gave him answer,— 

His wrath was very hot, — 
" Ye rebel hounds of Calais, 

Your crimes I pardon not. 

1 Sir John de Vienne, a knight of great valour, was then governor of 
Calais. 



84 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Six of your richest burghers 

As captives I demand; 
On every neck a. halter, 

A chain on every hand ; 
And when their lives have answered 

For this their city's crime, 
Then will I think of mercy, — 

Till then, it is not time. 7 ' 

The governor was silent, 

His heart was full of pain ; 
Then spake Sir Walter Manny, 

Chief of the monarch's train : 
" The fittest time for mercy, 

My liege, is ever — now ; 
Oh, turn away thine anger ! 

Oh, do not knit thy brow ! 

Call back thy words, King Edward, 

Call back what thou hast said, 
For thou canst not call the spirit 

Back to the gallant dead." 
" Now hold thy peace, Sir Walter," 

The monarch sternly cried ; 
" I will not be entreated, 

I will not be defied ! 

Be silent, all my nobles : 

And thou, Sir John de Vienne, 
Come with six wealthy burghers, 

Or come thou not again V 9 
The king he spake so fiercely 

That no one dared reply ; 
Sir John went back to Calais 

Slowly and mournfully. 



THE SIX BURGHERS OF CALAIS. 85 

The warriors and the burghers 

He summoned to his hall, 
And he told King Edward's pleasure, 

Full sadly, to them all : 
" My friends and fellow-townsmen, 

Ye hear the tyrant's will ; 
We had better die together, 

And keep our city still !" 

There was silence for a moment, — 

They were feeble, they were few, 
But one spirit was among them, 

Which nothing could subdue ; 
Out cried a generous burgher : 

" Oh, never be it said 
That the loyal hearts of Calais 

To die could be afraid ! 

First of the destined captives 

I name myself for death, 
And in my Saviour's mercy 

Undoubting is my faith." 
The name of this true hero 

Ye should keep with reverent care ; 
Let it never be forgotten ! — 

It was Eustace de St. Pierre. 

Like a watchfire lit at midnight — 

Strike but a single spark, 
And the eager flame spreads quickly 

Where all before was dark ; 
So were their spirits kindled 

By the word of bold St. Pierre, 
His faith and his devotion 

Gave strength to their despair. 



80 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Five other noble merchant! 

Their names that instant gave, 
To join with generous Eustace 

Their countrymen to save ■ 
Their comrades wept around them 

Tears for such parting meet ; 
And they led those willing capti • 

To stern King Edward'l feet 

They came in brave obedience 
To Edward't fierce command; 

On every neck a halter, 
A chain on every hand. 

Now when the king beheld them, 

Right fiery grew his eye, — 
c; Strike off their head-!'' he thundered ; 

u Each man of them shall die V 

But forth stepped Queen Philippe, 1 

The gentle, good, and fair ; 
She kneeled before King Edward, 
And thus she spake her prayer : 

(It was a sight full touching 

That honoured queen to 
Before the knights and nobles, 

Low kneeling on her knee.) 

" My loving lord and husband," — 
; Twas thus the fair queen spake, — 

" Grant me these generous captive-, 
Oh, spare them for my sake ! 

I am thy true companion ; 
I crossed the stormy sea, 

1 Philippa of Hainault, the fair and virtuous wife of Edward III. 



THE SIX BURGHERS OF CALAIS. 87 

A weak and fearful woman, 
And all for love of thee. 

I have been faithful to thee 

Through all our wedded life, 
Nor didst thou ever find me 

A disobedient wife ; 
Then do not thou repulse me 

In this my first request ; 
Grant me their lives, I pray thee, — 

In nought have they transgress' d." 

The king lookM long upon her : 

" I would thou wert not here ! 
Yet I refuse thee nothing, 

Because thou art so dear." 
Up sprang that joyous lady, 

And eagerly she bade 
That they should loose the fetters 

Upon those captives laid. 

From round their necks she loosened 

The cruel halter's band 5 
To each a golden noble 

She gave with her own hand ; 
She bade them be conducted 

Back to their native place, — 
To friends, and wives, and children, 

To the joy of their embrace. 

Oh, who shall paint their meeting ! 

Oh, who shall speak their bliss ! 
Too weak for aught so mighty 

The power of language is. 



88 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

How did the fond eyes brighten 
Around each quiet hearth ! 

The peace of such deep rapture 
Is seldom given to earth. 

Oh, out then spake King Edward : 

n How different are our parts ! 
I may win fair cities, 

But my queen she winneth hearts. 
God bless thee, sweet Philippa ; 

And mayst thou ever be 
As dear to all the English 

As now thou art to me ! ,; 






THE LITTLE QUEEN. 89 



Reign of Richard II., 1377-1399. 



^Jje little <ffltoe*n. 1 

A little child-*-scarce eight years old — 

And she was crowned a queen ! 
Oh, strange and scarcely to be told 

Must her young thoughts have been ; 
For how should pomp, and storm, and strife, 

And prideful discontent, 
With childhc d's soft and dreamy life 

Be for an blent ? 

They took liei m her mother's care, 

They bore her ar the sea, 
And to the King of England fair 

Wedded her solemnly. 
Oh, much that mother's heart must miss, 

At morn and evening hours, 
Her little one's accustom'd kiss, 

Dropping like dew on flowers. 

Beneath grey Windsor's stately shade, 

The aspect of her life 
Seem'd a green, quiet forest-glade, 

With songs and wood-flowers rife. 

1 The princess Isabelle of France, who was married to King Richard 
II. ere she had completed her ninth year. He was then about thirty 
years old. 



90 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Or like the picture on a lake 

When breezes are asleep, 
No cloud to mar, no grief to break 

Its spell so sweet and deep. 

King Richard was a gentle king ; 

His visits came like those 
Which the gay sunshine makes in spring 

To rouse the slumbering rose. 
Her childish tasks were flung away, 

While, laughing at her glee, 
The monarch mingled in her play, 

And loved its liberty. 

Or down some cool, dark avenue, 

Hand clasping hand, they roam, 
While in her gaze his fancy drew 

Pictures of days to come ; 
Little reck'd she of crown or throne, 

Of regal pomp and pride ; 
" Oh, would I were a woman grown, 

To make thee blest !" she cried. 

Ah, little knewest thou, gentle king, 

Nor thou, fair infant queen, 
The storms which coming days should bring 

To mar so sweet a scene ; 
Rebellion through the groaning land 

As a black plague-spot spread ; 
The sword was rent from Richard's hand, 

The circlet from his head. 

To Havering Bower the queen was brought, 

Where, captive and subdued, 
Too soon her childish heart was taught 

The cares of womanhood. 






THE LITTLE QUEEN. 

The tempest of her sudden grief 

Came like a frost in spring, 
That withers every bud and leaf 

Before its blossoming. 

Sternly her sullen guards refuse 

All tidings of her lord ; 
Her eager quest she oft renews, 

But they answer not a word. 
Strange fears upon her youthful breast 

With dark forebodings fell ; 
But still his name in prayer she blest, 

And still she loved him well. 

At length, one summer's morn, 'tis said, 

Forth journeying from her bower, 
She met the rebel troop -who led 

Her monarch to the Tower ; 
O piteous meeting ! Grave surprise 

Checked even the gaoler train, 
When from that child's young earnest eyes 

The tears broke forth like rain. 

She spoke not many words, but strove, 

In broken phrase and brief, 
Somewhat of comfort and of love 

To mingle with his grief; 
" God will protect thee in thy fall," 

(Thus sobb'd the captive queen) ; 
"Oh, father, mother, husband, all, 

Thou unto me hast been P 

It is sad to see an infant fade 

Beneath our very gaze, 
As a lily in some poisonous shade 

Droops, withers, and decays ; 

i2 



91 



92 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

It is sad to see the eye's pure light 

Grow fainter day by day, 
And the young, young life, so fresh and bright, 

Ebb gradually away. 

But sadder when the heart's young life 

In the glory of its morn 
Is dimm'd by grief, and marr'd by strife, 

And stifled ere it dawn ; 
When childhood's hopes are changed to fears, 

And childhood's mirth to gloom, 
And life's great treasure-house of tears 

Is open'd in life's bloom! 

His crown, his hopes, his freedom gone, 

King Richard pined away, 
Till they slew him in his dungeon lone, 

Like a lion brave at bay ; 
In vain his single strength he sets 

'Gainst the rebels' leagued power, 
Though the soul of the Plantagenets 

Was strong in him that hour. 

Long, long the false usurper tried, 

With speech and promise fair, 
To win his captive queen as bride 

For Henry, England's heir. 
Ever she answer'd stedfastly, 

As one that shrank from strife, 
" King Richard's widow will I die, 

As I have lived his wife ! 

Still are mine eyes with weeping dim ; 

And 'twere a fearful thing 
That I should wed the son of him 

Who slew my gentle king/' 



THE LITTLE QUEEN. 93 

In woe her snowy hands she rung, 

And went to weep apart ; 
Twas marvel that a child so young 

Should be so true of heart. 

Thus years all bootlessly were spent 

In pleadings strong but vain ; 
Till, freed at last, the exile went 

Back to her France again. 
Oh, trust me, many tears she shed 

As she forsook the land 
Where the lord she loved so much lay dead, 

Slain by a traitor's hand. 

A place of grief had England been — 

Of grief, and woe, and wrong, 
Crushing the heart of that child-queen, 

So desolate and young : 
Yet firm was she, though wrath might burn, 

And civil war rage wild. 
Ah, let all men a lesson learn 

From that fair, faithful child ! 




LAYS AND BALLADS. 



$avt g«on!>. 



LAYS AND BALLADS. 



PART SECOND. 



£f)e 2Lag of Ittng fames & in fjfe ©aptibitj. 

[James the First was the second son of King Robert III., and be- 
came heir to the throne of Scotland at the age of eleven years by the 
death of his elder brother, the unfortunate Earl of Rothsay, who was 
barbarously starved to death in prison by his own uncle, the wicked 
Duke of Albany. James fell into the hands of the English, and was 
detained by them in captivity during eighteen years. He was impri- 
soned in Windsor castle ; and from the window of his tower he was 
wont to see the Lady Joanna, the fair daughter of the Earl of Somer- 
set, walking among her flowers in the garden. He fell in love with 
her ; and when he was at length ransomed by his people, he conducted 
her to Scotland as his queen. He was a man of high and energetic 
intellect, indomitable resolution, and intense devotion to his country, 
which he earnestly longed to rescue from the misery and misrule by 
which it was distracted, while given up to the governjflent of his un- 
principled uncle and yet move worthless cousins,] 






Morn to eve ? and eve to morn, 

Listless heart and eyes unsleeping — 

Want, or woe, or pain, or scorn, 
O'er this lifeless desert sweeping, 

Welcome were, as pangs, for nie 

Breaking death's dread lethargy. 



98 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Like the wretch, whose weary pace 
To and fro, for years alone, 

Left at length an awful trace 
Printed on the unyielding stone, 

Time's slow footsteps, day by day, 

Wear my very soul away. 

Creeping through this narrow grate, 
Stretching o'er these walls of gloom, 

Even the air is like a weight, 
Even the sky is like, a tomb ; 

Nature's noble things and free 

Put on dreariness for me. 

Nay, it is not thus ! I have 
Empire o'er a world within ; 

Lo, my kingly wand I wave, 
Lo, the shadowy scenes begin ! 

Veiled shapes of hours unknown 

Stand before my spirit's throne. 

Life — mine own, my coming life! 

Well I know what thou shalt be ; 
Shining bliss and stormy strife, 

Labour, hope, and victory ! 
Ceaseless efforts upward tending, 
And at last in triumph ending ! 

Thou hast gifts, and thou hast tasks, — 
Give the last — mine aim is won ! 

Only this my spirit asks, 

Strength and space to labour on ; 

Lo, mine eyes exulting see 

Scotland blest, and blest through me ! 






KING JAMES I. IN HIS CAPTIVITY. 99 

Ah, my country ! Prostrate now, 

Crownless, comfortless, forlorn, 
Like a noble stag brought low, 

Striving, sinking, bleeding, torn ; 
All thine ancient honour dies, 
In the dust thy glory lies ! 

Mine to stanch those gaping wounds, 

Mine to raise that shadowed face, 
Mine to chain those ruthless hounds, 

Baying on their bloody chase ; 
Mine to wreath thy brows once more 
With the bays which once they wore. 

Oh, for power ! But it shall come ! 

By thy woods, and steeps, and seas, 
Every hearth shall be a home, 

Every heart shall be at peace ; 
In thy huts no slaves shall be, 
In thy halls no tyranny ! 

If then, night and day alike, 

I a wakeful warder stand, 
Swift to spare, yet prompt to strike, 

Calm of heart, and strong of hand ; 
Lone were such a lot, and hard, 
Were itself its sole reward. 

But a dearer hope is mine, 

Not unshared my toils shall be — 
Shining as a star may shine 

O'er the stern and troubled sea, 
Hope, and guide, and goal thou art 
In the brightness of thy heart ! 

K 



100 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Known but dimly from afar, 

Seen but through a dungeon-grate, 

Still thine eye hath been my star, — 
Still thy smile shall be my fate ; 

Throned upon that brow serene, 

Strength, hope, purity, are seen. 

Wherefore rise those blushes bright, 
Half ashamed, beneath my gazing? 

Wherefore sink thine eyes of light, 
Scarce their ivory veil upraising ? 

'Tis the future stirs within thee, 

Thou shalt love, and I shall win thee ! 

Fare thee well ! God's favour rest 
On thy home, thy heart, and thee ! 

Still thou leav'st my spirit blest, 
Blest in hope and memory : 

Past and Future round me seem, 

While the Present is a dream. 

Dungeon-bar and galling chain, 
Are ye past away from me ? 

Ay, for outward bonds are vain 
While the kingly heart is free ! 

Father, to my spirit's night 

Thou hast spoken — there is light! 



DEATH OF KING JAMES I. 101 



£fje Dtstt of SantM I« 

Past was the day of festal mirth ; 

The monarch stood beside the hearth, 

Whose flickering brands cast changeful glow 

On his bright eye and stately brow ; 

Upon that calm and noble face 

Deep thoughts had left their living trace, — 

Thoughts, such as press, with giant power, 

A common life into an hour ; 

Each line of lofty meaning there 

Was graven by the hand of care, 

And the flash of that triumphant eye, 

That arching lip's stern majesty, 

Told of full many a foe withstood, — 

Without, disdain'd — within, subdued! 

But gentler thoughts arise — and well 
That smile's subduing light may tell 
(Like gleams that break the thunder-cloud, 
Speaking of heaven behind its shroud) 
How 'neath that haughty aspect lies 
A heart of kindliest sympathies. 
Oh, still that smile must shine most bright 
On her who lives but in its light, 
His queen, his lady — born to share 
His fleeting joy, his ceaseless care; 
Watching his fame with pride, as prone 
To think his greatest deeds her own, 
Yet with deep love, that strives to make 
Herself as nothing for his sake. 



102 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Now at his feet she sits, — how fair 
That spacious brow and shining hair, 
Those lips no painter's art could reach, 
Those glistening eyes whose light is speech, 
That slender form of stately mien, 
That softest cheek, as crystal sheen, 
Whose hue was of such tender rose 
As sunset flings on fallen snows ; 
No marvel that the monarch's eye 
Dwells on her face delightedly, 
No marvel that he loves to meet 
A gaze so fond, so full, so sweet ! 

Silent around, a graceful band, 
The maidens of her service stand, 
With snooded brow, and plaided breast, 

And bearing modest, but serene. 
First 'mid the fairest and the best 

Have Scotia's daughters ever been ; 
They pass the tale, the song, the jest — 

A blither group was never seen. 
Oh, pause a while, brief hours of bliss ! 
Upon a scene so sweet as this, 
Oh, ruthless night, forbear to close, 
With thy grim train of ghastly woes ! 
In vain ! It comes, the hour of doom ; 
These joys but herald deeper gloom, 
They are as flowers that hide a tomb ! 

What sound was that ? The clash of mail ? 
Why turns each lovely cheek so pale ? 
Why start they from their seats, and stand 
Each clasping quick her neighbour's hand ? 



DEATH OF KING JAMES I. 103 

Again ! — and nearer! — hark, a cry 

As of a brave heart's agony ; 

A shriek that rends the quivering air, 

The very cadence of despair ! 

Oh, save the king ! No thought has power 

But this in such a fearful hour ; 

Oh, save the king ! Too well we know 

They come, they come, the traitor foe ! 

All hope is vain, the guards are slain, 

Each faithful to his care, 
The gates are past, and clattering fast, 
With a sound like a rushing thunder-blast, 

Their tramp is on the stair ! 
Not to yon casement fly — beneath 
Stand the grim messengers of death, 
Their dull blades in the moonshine gleaming, 
With the blood of loyal hearts all steaming ! 
There is a cell beneath the floor, 
Oh, seek it ere they burst the door ! 
One effort more, — they lift the board, — 
By eager hands impelPd, implored, 
Even in that hour of agony 
Disdaining from his foes to fly, 
The king descends — too late, too late ! 
His strife is vain who strives with fate ; 
They come — each step resounding near 
Strikes like a stab upon the ear ! 

Shall Scotland's prince thus aidless die, 
And with a Do u gins standing by ? , 
Forbid it years of faith and fame, 
Clothing in light that ancient name ! 
Barr'd is that quivering door, — but how ? 
'Tis by a slender arm of snow ! 

K 2 



104 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

A girl hath darted from the band, 
And, where the weighty bar should stand, 
She thrusts her soft, slight arm, and cries, 
With whitening lips and gleaming eyes, 
" ? Tis fast — a woman's arm is there ; 
Now, men, come onward if ye dare !" 

Without a sound or start, 
Breathless she stood — the first fell stroke 
That fragile barrier erush'd and broke, 
But not one cry of terror woke 

From that undaunted heart ! 
Till, as they dropp'd the sheltering plank, 
Loosing her desperate hold, she sank 
(For then the iron hand of pain 
Closed on her heart and chilPd each vein) ; 
She sank, but ere her senses fled, 
" Thank God ! he's saved !" she faintly said. 
Such deeds can woman's spirit do — 
O Catharine Douglas, fair and true, 
Let Scotland keep thy holy name 
Still first upon her ranks of fame ! 

Kind was that swoon ! Thou didst not see 

What deeds of horror then befell ; 
Well may thy comrades envy thee, 

Blind to that piteous spectacle ! 
Those sounds of woe thou didst not hear, 
Thou didst not see that sight of fear, 

When banded traitors slew their king ; 
When, weeping, with dishevelPd hair, 
In pale but beautiful despair, 
A queen, a wife, a woman, there 
Did kneel to men who scorn'd her prayer, 
Her husband and their prince to spare ! 



DEATH OF KING JAMES I. 105 

Ah, hapless queen ! As hopeful 'twere 
Round the roused tiger in his lair 

For mercy and for aid to cling ! 
All bleeding sinks she in the dust, 

Pierced by some stern and savage hand — 
Let shame's irreparable rust 

For ever stain that ruthless brand ! 
Let that foul deed recorded be, 
A warning to futurity, 
What fiends in man's dark breast awaken 
When loyal faith is once forsaken ! 

Like a chased lion, wounded, worn, 

But still terrific in his fall, 
With ebbing strength and eyes of scorn 

The king confronts those traitors all ; 
Outnumber'd soon, but unsubdued, 
He sinks before them in his blood — 
No victors they, — the hero dies, 
Worn out with useless victories ! 

Weep, Scotland, weep, that tameless soul, 
That heart, great, generous, warm, and true ; 

As countless ages onward roll, 

Such spirits come but far and few. 

Weep, Scotland, weep, and not in vain ; 

Thy tears have wash'd away the stain, 

An hundred deeds of after-time 

Have well redeemed that hour of crime ; 

Though darkening shame defile the name 

And scutcheon of the traitor Grahame, 

How Scotsmen for their king can die 

Let Cameron and Montrose reply ! 



106 LAYS AND HALL ADS. 



Sije lai? of Sir BRfllfam WltAUtt. 

The grey hill and the purple heath 

Are round me as I stand ; 
The torrent hoar doth sternly roar, 

The lake lies calm and grand ; 
The altars of the living rock 

'Neath yon blue skies are bare, 
And a thousand mountain-voices mock 

Mine accents on the air. 

land most lovely and beloved, — 
Whether in morn's bright hue*, 

Or in the veil, so soft, so pale, 

Woven by twilight dews, 
God's bounty pours from sun and cloud 

Beauty on shore and wave, — 

1 lift my hands, I cry aloud, 
Man shall not make thee slave ! 

Ye everlasting witnesses, — 

Most eloquent, though dumb, — 
Sky, shore, and seas, light, mist, and breeze, 

Receive me, when I come ! 
How could I, in this holy place, 

Stand with unshamed brow, 
How look on earth's accusing face, 

If I forget my vow ? 

Not few nor slight his burdens are 

Who gives himself to stand 
S ted fast and sleepless as a star, 

Watching his fatherland ; 



SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. 

Strong must his will be, and serene, 
His spirit jmre and bright, 

His conscience vigilant and keen, 
His arm an arm of might. 

From the closed temple of his heart, 
Sealed as a sacred spring, 

Self must he spurn, and set apart 
As an unholy thing ; 

Misconstrued where he loves the best, 
Where most he hopes, betrayed, 

The quenchless watchfire in his breast- 
Must neither fail nor fade. 

And his shall be a holier meed 

Than earthly lips may tell ; — 
Not in the end, but in the deed, 

Doth truest honour dwell. 
His land is one vast monument, 

Bearing the record hi^h 
Of a spirit with itself content, 

And a name that cannot die ! 

For this, with joyous heart, I give 

Fame, pleasure, love, and life ; 
Blest, for a cause so high, to live 

In ceaseless, hopeless strife : 
For this to die, with sword in hand, 

Oh, blest and honoured thrice ! — ■ 
God, countrymen, and fatherland, 

Accept the sacrifice ! 



107 



108 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Brute anfcr Douglas. 



LAY THE FIRST. 
THE DEATH OF BRUCE. 

There is darkness in the chamber, 

There is silence by the hearth, 
For pale, and cold, and dying, 

Lies a great one of the earth ; 
That eye's dim ray is faint and grey, 

Those lips have lost their red, 
And powerless is a people's love 

To lift that languid head. 

Through hilly Caledonia 

Woe spread eth far and fast, 
As spreads the shadow of a cloud 

Before a thunder-blast, — 
For it is The Bruce whose mighty heart 

Is beating now its last ! 

A tearful group was gathered 

Around that bed of death : 
There stood undaunted Randolph, 

Knight of the Perfect Wreath ; 
And Campbell, strong and stedfast 

Through danger and despair ; 
And valiant Grey, and stern La Haye, 

And loyal Lennox there ; 
There, last in name, but first in fame, 

And faithful to the end, 



BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 

All weeping stood Lord James the Good, 

True knight and constant friend ; 
And there, with eyes of grave surprise, 

Fast rooted to the place, 
The monarch's son, scarce four years old, 

Gazed in his father's face ! 
But the stillness of that solemn room 

Was stirred by scarce a breath — 
Silent were all, and silently 

The Bruce encountered Death. 

They stood and saw, with reverent awe, 

How ever, upward glancing, 
He seemed to watch some dim array 

Of warrior-shapes advancing ; 
For as he lay in silence, 

There passed before his eyes, 
Like a slow and stately pageant, 

His life's long memories. 

And first — brief days of bitter shame, 

Repented and disowned — 
His early sins before him came, 
By many an after-deed of fame 

Effaced and well atoned. 
One passing shade of noble grief 
Darkened the brow of the dying chief, 
But fast it faded from the sight, 
Lost in his life's remember'd light ; 
For then of burning thoughts arose 

A shadowy and unnumbered host, — 
And Methven's field of blood and woes, 

And Rachrin's unforgotten coast, 



109 



* 



110 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Where Freedom's form, through gloom and storm, 

Did first for Scotland shine, 
As faint by night a beacon-light 

Glimmers through mist and brine. 
And Arran's isle, by shady Clyde, 

Where, when the summer noon was high, 
Friends, parted long and sorely tried, 

Met, and went forth to victory ; 
Where loud the Bruce his bugle wound, 
And Douglas answered to the sound ! 



Then name by name, and deed by deed, 
Bright trains of glorious thought succeed ; — 
The midnight watch, till o'er the foam 
Gleamed the lone beacon guiding home, 
And on old Carrick's well-loved shore 
The exile plants his foot once more ; 
The ford, beside whose waters grey 
His single arm kept hosts at bay ; 
The hurrying march, the bold surprise, 
The chase, the ambush, the disguise. 
Now leader of a conquering band, 

Now tracked by bloodhounds, swift and stern ; 
Till Glory's sun, at God's command, 

Stood still at last on Bannockburn, 
And stamped in characters of flame 
On Scottish breasts The Bruce's name. — 
Oh, seldom deathbed memories 
Are populous with thoughts like these ! 

To the face of the dying monarch 
Came a sudden glow, and proud, 



BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 

But brief as the tinge of sunset 

Flung on a wandering cloud ; 
But see — his lips are parting, 

Though scarce a sound be heard , 
Down stoops the noble Douglas 

To catch each feeble word ; 
And all the knights and warriors, 

Holding their tightened breathy 
Close in a narrower circle 

Around the couch of death. 



Ill 



" O Douglas, O my brother ! 

My heart is ill at ease ; 
Unceasingly mine aching eye 

One haunting vision sees ; 
It sees the lengthened arches, 

The solemn aisles of prayer, 
And the death of the traitor Comyn 

Upon the altar-stair. 
Woe's me ! that deed unholy 

Lies like a heavy weight, 
Crushing my wearied conscience 

Before heaven's open gate. 
Fain would I wend a pilgrim 

Forth over land and sea, 
Where God's dear Son for sinners died; 

Alas, it must not be ! 
But if thy love be s ted fast 

As it was proved of yore, — 
When these few struggling pulses 

Are stilled, and all is o'er, 
Unclose this lifeless bosom, 

Take thence this heart of mine, 



112 LAYS AND HALL ADS. 

And boar it safely for my sake 

To holy Palestine : 
Well pleased nay heart shall tarry 

In thy fair company ; 
For it was wont, while yet in life, 

Ever to dwell with thee.* 1 

The dying king was silent; 

And down the Douglas kneeled — 
x\ kiss upon his sovereign's hand 

His ready promise sealed ; 
Never a word he answered, 

In sorrow strong and deep, 
But he wept, that iron soldier, 

Tears such as women weep. 
The Bruce hath prest him to his breast 

With faint but eager grasp, 
And the strong man's arm was tremulous 

As that weak dying clasp ! 

That last embrace unloosing, 

The monarch feebly cried, 
" Oh, lift me up, my comrades dear, 

And let me look on Clyde !" 
Widely they flung the casement, 

And there in beauty lay 
That broad and rolling river 

All sparkling to the day. 
The Bruce beheld its waters 

With fixed and wistful eye, 
Where calm regret was blending 

With blight expectancy ; 
And then, with sudden effort, 

Somewhat his arms he raised, 






BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 113 

As one that would have fain embraced 

The things on which he gazed. 
And then on those who held him 

There fell a strange deep thrill — 
For the lifted arms dropped heavily, 

The mighty heart was still ! 

Hushed was the voice of weeping — 

Mutely did Douglas close 
The eyes of the illustrious dead 

For their last, long repose ; 
And backwards from the couch they drew 

Softly and reverently ; 
For solemn is the face of death, 

Though full of hope it be ! 



LAY THE SECOND. 
THE BRUCE's HEART. 

It was Lord James of Douglas 

Set sail across the brine, 
With a warrior band, to seek the land 

Of holy Palestine. 
Stately and gay was his bold array, 

With plume and pennon streaming, 
With the sounding horn at break of day, 

With clustered lances gleaming. 

A nobler knight than the good Lord James, 

In sooth, is seldom seen : 
His words, though few, were straight and true 

As his sword so bright and keen : 



===! 



114 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Dark was his cheek, and dark his eye, 

But lit with a fiery glow, 
And his form of lofty majesty 

Beseemed a king, I trow. 

Beneath his vest a silver case, 

At a string of silk and gold, 
For ever lay, by night and day, 

Upon his bosom bold ; 
That casket none must hope to win 

By force or fraud fid art, 
For priceless was the wealth within — 

It held the Bruce's heart! 

In far Dunfermline's towers he lay 

In honoured sleep, and there 
Had loyal Douglas kneel'd to pay 

His vows, and lift his prayer, 
When stole along the steeps and glades 

The noiseless tread of Night, 
And Moonshine with her massy shades 

And cold clear lines of light. 

And there he laid upon his breast 

The heart of the mighty dead, — 
Sign that his monarch's last behest 

Should be accomplished. 
That solemn hour, that aw r ful scene, 

Bare witness to his vow ; 
And soon the waves of ocean green 

Danced round his daring prow\ 

Lord James hath landed in fair Castile, — 
Where, waiting by the sea, 



BRUCE AND DOUGLAS, 115 

Alphonso of Spain with a glittering train 

Hath welcomed him royally : 
But woe was in that lovely land ; 

For,, from Granada's towers, 
Dark Osmyn's fierce and ruthless band 

Ravaged its myrtle bowers. 

The Douglas gazed on the leafy shore. 

He gazed on the ocean blue, 
And the swarthy light in his eye grew bright, 

And his gleaming sword he drew : 
" Wert thou at my side, my king," he cried, 

" Thy voice's well-known sounds 
Would bid me aid these Christian knights 

To chase these Paynim hounds !" 

Then joy went forth through all the land ; 

And hurrying thousands came 
To see the chief whose valorous hand 

Had won him deathless fame. 
There stood a knight on the monarch's right, 

Well proved in bloody wars ; 
His face, I trow, from chin to brow, 

Was seamed with ghastly scars. 

" Lord Douglas, thou hast been," quoth he, 

" In battles from thy youth ; 
Good faith, I marvel much to see 

Thy manly face so smooth." 
" I thank my God," the Douglas said, 

" Whose favour and whose grace 
These hands have ever strengthened 

Thus to protect my face." 



110 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

But the clarion's thrilling note was heard, — 

And, loosing each liis rein, 
Their fiery steeds the warriors spurred 

Down to the battle-plain ; 
So swiftly on their way they went, 

So brightly their mail was flashing, 
That they might seem a mountain-stream 

O'er the edge of a tall cliff' dashing. 

In full noonday thn fair array 

Of turban'd Moslems shone, 
Like a cluster strange of gorgeous flowers 

Of form and clime unknown ; 
But when his arm each lifted, swinging 

His keen and twisted blade, 
It was like a glittering snake upspringing 

Out of the flower's soft shade. 

Lord Douglas looked on the crescent proud, 
And his Christian heart beat hisrh : 

o 

" Charge, countrymen !" he shouted loud ; 

K For God and Scotland, I !" 
Oh, never did eagle on its prey 

Dart with a feller swoop 
Than bounded the angry Scots that day 

On the Saracen's startled troop ! 

Like hunted tigers o'er the plain 

The Moors are flying fast — 
Like huntsmen true the Scots pursue 

With shout and clarion blast: 
But track the tiger to his lair, 

And the tiger turns to spring— 
Brave hearts, beware ; for still despair 

Is a fierce and fearful tiling ! 



BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 117 

The Moors have wheeled on that fatal field, 

They gather and they stand, 
And the wild long yell of " Allah hu !" 

Is heard on every hand ; 
They are circling about their daring foes 

In a grim and narrowing bound, 
As the walls of a burning jungle close 

The awe-struck traveller round. 

The foremost there fell brave St. Clair — 

That saw the Douglas bold, 
And did unloose the heart of Bruce 

From its string of silk and gold ; 
He hurled it through the serried spears, 

And his lifted voice rang high — 
" Pass to the front, as thou wert wont ! 

I follow thee, or die !" 

The day hath closed on fair Castile, 

The sinking sun gleams red 
On shattered plumes and broken steel, 

And piles of gallant dead ; 
In the centre of that bloody field 

Lord Douglas lay in death, — ■ 
Above him was his own good shield, 

And the Bruce's heart beneath ! 

No tears for him ! In Honour's light, 

As he had lived, he fell. 
Good night, thou dauntless soul, good night, 

For sure thou sleepest well ! 
Full hearts and reverent hands had those 

Who bare thee on thy bier 
Back to the place of thy repose — 

Thy Scotland, famed and dear ! 



118 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

A valiant knight the casket bore : 

And for that honoured part, 
His scutcheon wore fop evermore 

A padlock and a heart. 
They buried the Douglas in St. Bride ; 

And the heart of Bruce they laid 
In Melrose stately aisles, beside 

The altar's sacred si 1 ado. 

Not mine, with hand profane, to trace 

Grey Melrose towers around, — 
There is a Presence in the place, 

Making it holy ground. 
Strewing their snows on that fair spot, 

May countless years succeed, 
But they sever not the name of Scott 

From Melrose and from Tweed ! 



GRIZZEL HUME. 119 



©rfoel Jjunte. 



[Sir Patrick Hume of Polwarth, afterwards Lord Marchmont, was 
one of the leaders of the Jerviswood plot in the reign of Charles II. 
When this conspiracy was discovered, Sir Patrick, having narrowly 
escaped falling into the hands of those who were sent to arrest him, con- 
cealed himself in a vault in the churchyard of Polwarth, and remained 
there till his enemies had given up seeking for him in that neighbour- 
hood. During his sojourn in this dark and melancholy lurking-place, 
his daughter Grizzel, a girl about eighteen years old, conveyed provisions 
to her father every night. She was obliged to go forth alone, at mid- 
night, for this purpose ; and great must have been her alarm and anxiety 
during each of these perilous expeditions; for had chance discovered her 
to any evil-disposed person, the secret of her father's hiding-place must 
inevitably have been discovered, and there can be but little doubt that 
he would have shared the fate of the noble Baillie of Jerviswood, who, 
having refused to purchase safety by becoming a witness against Lord 
Russell, suffered death about this time. Vide Scott's Tales of a Grand- 
father : 2d Series, vol. ii.] 



When midnight flung o'er earth and sea 

Her solemn veil of gloom, 
All fearless and alone was she, 

The Lady Grizzel Hume, — 
Lighted beneath that sable sky 
By her young heart's fidelity. 

With eyes of hope, and peace, and truth,- 

Yiolets half hid in snow ; 
Wearing the glory of her youth 

Upon a cloudless brow ; 
Oh, seldom hath the silent night 
Look'd down upon so fair a sight! 



LAYS AND I 

Shi 

By fi hill, and tree, 

_ hi as the n 

DC can hear nor 
Before her home at 
And lifts the latch .Ming hands. 

" night is cUu 

'J' ho a oom 
(i I heard the startled watchdog 9 ! bark 

As I is 
And hurried on, in he 

Should rotue lomc lurking 

11 A:. js the churchyard drear, 

K in chilly drea 
v. mother, wherefore should I 
The mute and peaceful dead ? 
I only thought, how calm they sleep 
I neither feel, nor fear, n 

u Did not thy we 

The path was dark and I 
14 :h me on my H 

And soi mg; 

1 i er thought the stars did shed 

racious bless::iir cm my head.'' 

i 

i*0 

cc Ah, motht ice 

H i - l p ; 

He bade me labour still to make 

TL\ 



" f: 

hi I wept — T could not speak — 
hair, and ami: 

And kissed me on the cr. 
And said I bravely did, and well, 
To 

>k ; d he paJ .:a«wW pale, 

:irm and blithe . 
Like one whose heart could, r. 

Whose spirit n 
And calm and 
Of things whereat my heart mast break, 

said that he might die ; 
But he mamma* d Monmouth r a name, and tl. 

A tear was in 
And he brake off, as thou. 
That so urn . speak or . 

He bade me pray at morn aaci 

Tha' 
Calmly to die, but never . 

The right, nor love the wrc. 
I pray, — sweet mother, join me dm 
Q . pre my father hack to ml" 

Moth .1 knelt mutely the?' 

_rit that angels love ; 
The inccn ".earful pr a 

le to the he 
And softer sleep, and hope 
Came to their trouble 



122 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Full oft, when fairer* days were come, 

Beside a peaceful hearth 
That father bless'd his God for home, — 

The happiest place on earth ; 
And bent his head, and smiled to see 
His daughter's first-born climb his knee. 

Then, as the wondering child would gaze 

Into the old man's face, 
He told of dark and troublous days, 

Defeat, despair, disgrace ; 
Of Sedgemoor's field — oh, bitter word ! 
And lone Inchinnan's fatal ford. 

And how, through many a weary day, 
In want, and woe, and gloom, 

A hunted fugitive he lay 
The tenant of a tomb, 

With one weak girl, so pale and fair, 

His ministering spirit there; 

How that bold heart and childlike form 
Night after night would brave 

The blast, the darkness, and the storm, 
To seek his lonely cave — 

Pie paused, to shew with grateful pride 

The blushing matron at his side. 



FRANCIS I. AT LIBERTY. 123 



jFraiuta tfje jFtrst at Itbevti?, 

AFTER THAT SHAMEFUL IMPRISONMENT WHICH WAS THE 
RESULT OF HIS DEFEAT AT TAVIA. 

I am once more a king* ! 

Wave forth, my pennon fair ! 
My foot is on mine own dear soil, 

I am free as my native air ! 
Spring on, my gallant steed, 

Thou mayst bound blithely on, 
For thou bear'st to his home a warrior freed, 

And a king to his crown and throne ! 

Leap from thy sheath, my sword ! 

I may wield thee once again ; 
I could not brook on thy sheen to look 

While writhing in a chain. 
I will not bid thee shine 

Nov/ to avenge my wrongs, 
For, oh, to a heart as light as mine 

No bitterness belongs ! 

These are thy vales, fair France ! 

Mine, mine, this matchless land ! 
Dearer than gold in heaps untold, 

Or aught save faith and brand. 
The song of thy birds is sweet, 

Thy plains seem doubly fair, 
And, oh, how my heart leaps forth to meet 

Each breath of thy balmy air ! 



Play on my brow, cool breeze, 
For thou wakenest in my heart 



124 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

High thoughts and generous sympathies, 
Which long have slept apart. 

It is the voice of Franco 

Which breathes upon me now ; 

I will open my breast to thy glad advanoe,- 
Play lightly on my brow ! 

I am free ! I am free ! I am free ! 

I may give my lull heart way ; 
Its fire represt hath scorch' d my In-east, 

It pants for the open day. 
I am free ! I juii free ! I am free ! 

Oh, is it a dream of joy ? 
Or do I stand on my native land, 

And look on mine own blue sky ? 

I do, I do ! for when 

Did a Spaniard's icy brow 
Shine in the light of smiles so bright 

As those which meet me now 1 
Mine own — ye are all mine own ! 

I laugh at treason's darts ; 
For my people's love is my loftiest throne, 

My surest fence their hearts. 

And, by mine own true sword, 

No wrong shall e'er abase 
The soul on which your love is pour'd, 

To do that love disgrace ! 
Still in my changeless breast 

Dwells one unsullied spring ; 
Free, chained, exalted, or opprest, 

My soul is still a king ! 






THE BATTLE OF ANTIOCH. 125 



frije Battle of atatforfj. 

[The legend on which this ballad is founded is narrated iu Mr. James's 
Life of Richard Cceur de Lion.] 

The clear eye of morning was cloudless and blue, 
And the air was all fresh with the fragrance of dew, 
And the cheeks of the Christians with watching were 

pale; 
But their hearts were as strong as their double-link' d 

mail. 

Round the walls of that city so stately and fair 
The Saracen banners were soaring in air ; 
And countless and bright was that host of the brave 
As sparkles of foam on the storm-cloven wave. 

Lo, the gates are flung wide, and the Christian host 

comes, 
Their plumes waving time to the roll of their drums ; 
All pale was each cheek, and all proud was each eye, 
For the souls that spake through them were purposed 

to die ! 

Like youth in its buoyancy, joyous and proud, 

Was the shining array of the Saracen crowd ; 

Like the last hours of manhood, all grief-worn and wan. 

But unshaken and fearless, the Christians came on. 

They met as the hurricane meeteth the storm 

When the fiend of the tempest unveils his dark form, 

And the lightnings are marshalPd in heaven's high 

field,— 
Woe, woe for the Christians ! they waver, they yield ! 



126 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

They waver, the weary, the faint, and the few ; 
But still bold is their front as their spirits are true ; 
And brave were the hearts that had breathed out their 

life 
Ere the banner of Tancred went down in the strife. 






Full dark was the shadow which then overspread 
The face of their leader, as groaning he said, 
Upst re tching his arms to the cold, changeless sky, 
" Now God to the rescue, for man can but die!" 

And lo, as he speaks, in the distance appears 
A band of bright horsemen with star-pointed spears ; 
Their vesture was white as the sea's snowy surf, 
And prmtless the step of their steeds on the turf. 

So mutely they swept o'er the hill's haughty crest, 
As the snow rushes down on the river's broad breast, 
All noiseless and swift, all resplendent and white, 
Like the fires of the north in the loneness of night. 

They turn not, they pause not, they break not their 

ranks, 
But, fast as a torrent o'er-sweeping its banks, 
Yet firm as the marching of battle-proved men, 
They charge and they shatter the false Saracen. 

That charge who withstandeth ? They came like the 
wind, 

And they went as they came — but what left they be- 
hind? 

In shame and in shrinking, in wounds and in loss, 

The Crescent hath fled from the might of the Cross ! 



THE BATTLE OF ANTIOCH. 127 

The Christians have kneeled 'mid the dying and slain. 
And their psalm of thanksgiving soars up from the 

plain : 
" Now, down with the Paynim ! his power is o'er- 

thrown. 
For God hath been speedy to succour His own \ h 



m 2 



128 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



Z\)t Sratij of tf>c CCaptal tic Bud;. 

[The Captal de liuch was truly a knight tana peur el sans reproche. 
That tierce and savage insurrection of the populace, called the Jacquerie, 

was put clown by his valour and resolution, almost unassisted. He was 
the friend and brother in anus of the Black Prince, whose death was 
communicated to him while languishing in a French prison. On hearing 
the mournful tidings he refuted all comfort, and died within two or three 
days— one of the few authentic instances on record of death from what is 
commonly called " a broken heart."] 

The royal moon shone silver bright 
Upon a prison-grate, 

Where, his chains glancing to her light, 

A lonely captive sate ; 
Strange was it to behold his brow 

So stately and so free, 
For twice three years had witnessed now 

His stern captivity. 

No change had passed upon his face, 

No dimness on his eye, 
Where shone in glory and in grace 

The soul of chivalry ! 
True had he kept his loyal faith, 

And true his knightly sword, 
Nor bribe, nor threat, nor chains, nor death, 

Could turn him from his word. 

Slow moves the bolt — his captors come ; 

He starts with burning cheek ; 
" Oh, say, what news? what news from home? 

How fares my chieftain ? Speak !" 
Their eyes no sympathy evince, 

They answer cold and slow, 



DEATH OP THE CAPTAL DE BUCH. 129 

" Nay, ask not of thy sable prince, 
He died six days ago!" 

Stern were their hearts and chill with pride; 

But when his face they saw 7 , 
They could not choose but turn aside 

Their gaze in very awe : 
What years of anguish failed to do, 

At once that instant wrought, 
The heart which nothing could subdue 

Was broken — by a thought! 

His mailless hands a while he prest 

Over his aching eyes, 
Until the tumult of his breast 

Broke forth in words and sighs : 
" Ah, thou, the gentlest, bravest, first, 

Model of friend and foe, 
How should the heart refuse to burst 

Which hears that thou art low ? 

Not on the battle-plain, my chief, 

Where knightly banners wave, 
And trumpets sound their warlike grief 

Over the hero's grave ; 
Not on thy shield or in thy tent, 

With comrades weeping nigh, — 
In this thy native element 

Thou wert not given to die ! 

But sickness had its task, to wear 

Thy glorious soul away, 
And I, — O God ! — I was not there 

To soothe thy closing day ! 



130 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

With nought to cheer thy wasting pain 

Save thine unconquercd heart 
{That all-sufficient to sustain), 
So, so didst, thou depart ! 

I lift no prayer for thy repose, 

God gives the crown to worth, 
And well I know thou art of those 

Who earn'd it while on earth ; 
Tor me — my pilgrimage is done, 

My noon of life is grey, 
Mine eyes have seen their guiding sun 

Go down while it was day I" 

lie ceased, and from his side unbound 
The sword which still he wore ; 

He cast it sternly on the ground, 
And grasp'd it never more ! 

He turned him from the oppressive light- 
Calmly and silently 

As sets a star in cloudless night, 
So did the hero die ! 



CHOICE OF THE CHRISTIAN HEROES. 131 

Z\)t @Ijoue of tlje Cfjvfetian heroes. 

[See Addison's History of the Knights Templars.] 

It was the hour of evening prayer, 

It was the holy Sabbath night, 
Sunset was glowing in the air, 

Placid, and calm, and bright ; 
When fierce Saladin did call 
To his side his warriors all, 
And in proud array they wound their way 

Up green Tiberias' height. 

With fettered hand and weary soul 
Each Christian captive followed on, 

Submissive to that base control 
Till the fair hill was won ; 

Oh, what depth of fire supprest 

Must have burned in every breast ! 
For they were the knights of a thousand fights, 
Of the Temple and St. John. 

They stood and held their very breath, 

With rising heart and filling eye, 
For the blue sea of Genesareth 

Beneath their feet did lie ; 
Yon hills are guardians of the shore 
Where oft their Saviour trod before ; 
And their hands are bound, and the holy ground 

Is the prey of Moslemrie ! 

And lo ! it is the very hour 

When on their far, their Christian shore, 



132 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Those they best love, from hall and bower 

Wend to the church's door ; 
Full many a heart is lifting prayer 
For them — the lonely captives there ! 
And some they frown, and some look down, 

For their eyes are running o'er. 

Stately and sad, an old knight, spake : 
" Why, tyrants, have ye brought us here? 

Say, did ye wish to see them break, 
The hearts that cannot fear? 

Know, our God will give us might 

Even to look upon this sight. 
My brethren, dry each drooping eye; 
The foe beholds your tear!" 

The Moslem chieftain answered him : 
"Captives, look round ye, as ye stand; 

Look, ere the twilight closeth dim, 
Upon this lovely land ; 

See how the clouds yon hills enfold, 

Turning their purple into gold ; 
For the sun's last light makes all things bright 
Save you, the captive band. 

Is not the earth around ye fair? 

And do your hearts desire to die, 
Nor breathe once more the gladsome air, 

When morning paints the sky ? 
A precious thing is the light of day, 
And life should not be flung away ; 
Say, would ye be on the green earth free ? 

Pine ye for liberty ? 



CHOICE OF THE CHRISTIAN HEROES. 133 

Free shall ye be, by a sultan's word, 
A word that ne'er was broken yet, 

Take ye but Allah for your Lord, 
And bow to Mahomet. 

Your trusty swords I will restore, 

Your heads shall wear the helm once more, 
By the Moslem band who rule this land 
Ye shall be as brethren met. 

Refuse — yon scimiters are keen — 
A stern and speedy death is near V*. 

Full awful were those words, I ween ; 
They thrill'd against the ear ! 

What did that true band reply ? 

Every knight kneeled down to die, 
For they looked on the sea of Galilee, 

And one word they answer' d— " Here ?" 

Here, should the brave deny their God ? 

Here, should the true forsake their faith ? 
Here, where the living footsteps trod 

Of Him they own'd in death ? 
Here, where the silent earth and sea 
Bare witness to the Deity ? 
There was not a heart would from Christ depart 

By blue Genesareth ! 

So, one by one, they kneeled and died, 

That band of heroes and of saints, 
And the deep, dark stain of a crimson tide 

The hill's lone greenness taints. 
The hurrying work of death was done 
Ere in the pure wave sank the sun, 



134 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

And the twilight air was full of prayer, 
But not of weak complaint*. 

Oh, many tears, ye brave and true, 
Oh, many tears for those were shed 

Whose corpses by the waters blue 
Lay piled — unhonoured dead ! 

Shrined in many a bleeding heart, 

Never did their names depart ! 
And heaven's own light for many a night 
Play'd round each sleeping head. 

But a purer light than that whose ray 
Around their tombless corpses shone, 

Was kindled in hearts far away 
By the deed which they had done ! 

And if the warriors' tempted faith 

Grew feeble in the hour of death, 
u Remember," they cried, " how the Templars died, 
And the true knights of St. John !" 



THE BRETHREN OF PORT ROYAL. 185 



Sije iSmfjvnt of $ovt SHopal. 

[The Jansenist settlement at Port Royal was composed of men whose 
demeanour and occupations realised the purest idea of a monastic life 
that ever presented itself to the mind of a religious enthusiast. The 
convent was governed by the celebrated Mere Angelique, and among the 
brethren were to be counted some of the noblest names in France. When 
the wars of the Fronde first broke out, De Sericour, one of the brethren, 
and, like many of his companions, formerly a knight and a warrior, cast 
aside his cowl, and laid hand on his sword. His example was speedily 
followed by the others; in a few moments the quiet valley was converted 
into a camp — the peaceful band of monks became a gallant and eager 
army. Fortifications were commenced; and the work of disciplining 
forces, not indeed inexperienced, but forgetful, through long disuse, of 
their former soul-stirring experience, was entrusted to De Sericour. In 
the midst of these warlike preparations, De Sacy, another of their num- 
ber, and a relation of the impetuous De Sericour, recalled to the minds 
of the brethren their vow and sacred profession. In an instant their 
arms were cast aside, the note of the trumpet was exchanged for the 
solemn sound of the organ and the plaintive tones of the penitential 
psalm ; and the valley, with its singular inhabitants, was restored to the 
calm and peace of its original aspect, in a space of time yet shorter lhan 
that which had sufficed for the first change.] 

Upon St. Mary's night 

Was met a holy band, 
In prayer and fasting to unite 

For their afflicted land ; 
The moon shone clear and pale 

Upon the house of prayer, 
And the solemn organ-tones did sail 

Along the stedfast air. 

Upon a kneeling crowd 

That silver radiance shone, 
With hearts upraised and faces bow'd 

At God's eternal throne ; 

N 



13G LAYS AND BALLADS. 

And strange was it to see, 

As ye passed their ranks along, 

The difference and the unity 
Of that assembled throng. 

Some were in youth's first bloom, 

And some in manhood's prime, 
Some verging on the open tomb, 

And waiting God's good time ; 
From ploughing summer's earth 

Some to those walls were come, 
And the high stamp of noble birth 

Was on the brows of some. 

But a holy band they were, — 

One Lord, one faith, oik; heart, 
A brotherhood of praise and prayer, 

From the vain world apart : 
Beneath war's iron rod 

Their groaning land was cast ; 
But in simple toils, and serving God, 

Their quiet days they past. 

Hard must it be to bow 

Beneath that stedfast chain, 
Though no irrevocable vow 

Their willing hearts restrain. 
Seest thou yon kneeler there ? 

Ay, mark him well — the hand 
Now clasp'd in penitential prayer 

Once shook the knightly brand. 

Does not that governed eye 
Full many a story tell 



THE BRETHREN OF TORT ROYAL. 137 

Of struggle, strife, and victory, 

Won in his narrow cell ; 
The world's vain lore unlearned, 

Its vainer hopes unfelt ? — 
But, ah, how the warrior-heart hath burned 

Beneath that iron belt ! 

Long, long he strove to lift 

His spirit with the psalm, 
Pleading and striving for the gift * 

Of patience, deep and calm ; 
But as upon the air 

Those soaring accents float, 
There blended with the voice of prayer 

One distant trumpet-note. 

Like to the purple gloom 

Of storm-clouds on the sea, 
When earth is silent as the tomb, 

And heaven frowns terribly, 
Was the darkness that overspread 

That soldier-hermit's brow : 
His eye is proud, his cheek is red — 

He's all the warrior now ! 

Like to the sudden light 

Upon those storm-clouds breaking, 
When tempest rushes on the night, 

And hurricanes are waking, 
Was the spirit that returned 

To his uplifted eye, — 
A fire long stifled, but which burned 

On its old hearth eagerly. 



138 LAWS AND BALLADS. 

" Up, up !" lie cried, " awake ! 

Gather for France — for France ! 
For cowl, and staff, and crosier, take 

The helmet and the lance ! 
We see our country bleed, 

We hear the trumpet's tone, 
And how should we need a chief to lead ? — 

Our hearts shall lead us on ! 

Our joyous land of France, 

Our lovely, our adored, 
Shall she advance, my friends, advance! — 

I cannot speak the word. 
This is a holy war, 

Good angels on us smile ; 
Soldiers we were, and monks we are, 

But Frenchmen all the while! 

And our hands are now unbound, 

And we all are knights once more, 
And the old forgotten cry shall sound, 

c God and De Sericour !' " 
Their hearts took uj> that cry ; 

And, like a lion's roar, 
The long aisles echo thunderingly, 

" God and De Sericour V* 

And the anthem died away, 

And the sounds of prayer were lost : 
The monks and the beadsmen, where are they ?- 

Ye see an armed host ! 
An armed host ye see ; 

For, swift as light or thought, 
Some of its ancient panoply 

Each eager hand hath caught. 



THE BRETHREN OF PORT ROYAL. 139 

Lances were glimmering then, 

And faded banners streaming, 
And on the brows of aged men 

Were helmets faintly gleaming, 
But dimm'd with many a stain, 

For the rust had eaten through them, 
But the spirits were themselves again, 

And how should man subdue them ? 

They march into the field, 

De Sericour the first ; 
Oh, as his hand resumed the shield, 

Seemed that his heart would burst! 
Beneath the moon's pale lamp 

War's business was begun, 
And the quiet vale became a camp 

Ere rose the morning sun. 

And the work of war went on, 

There was hurrying to and fro, 
The trumpet gave its cheering tone, 

" Set forward on the foe !" 
How were their spirits stirred, 

All panting to begin ! — - 
But lo, a calm, still voice is heard— - 

It warneth them of sin ! 

Of Christian love and hope, 

Of their adopted law, 
' Forbidding strife with strife to cope > 
It speaks in holy awe ; 
It calls them to submit 

To that accustomed yoke, 
And to weep that they rejected it,— 
It was De Sacy spoke. 

n2 



140 LAVS and BALL A l>>. 

Mutely they hear the word, 

And mutely all obey ; 
Cuirass, and lance, and helm, and sword, 

At once arc flung away ; 

And the noon-tide sun Bhines bright 

Upon an altered scene, 
The vale lies placid in its light 

As it hath ever been ! 

Gone — like an April gleam 
When storms are gathering fast! 

It is like waking from a dream ! 
That wondrous change hath past. 

And the daily toils went en, 
As if they ne'er had ceased, 

And the organ with its statel\ tone 

Gave answer to the priest. 

AYho first did from him cast 

The weapon that he wore? 
'Twas he whom man would name the last — 

It was De Sericour ! 
His lofty head is bow'd 

'Neath a heavier weight than years, 
The eye that was so brightly proud 

Is quench* d in sudden tears ! 

And penitence resumes 
J Tei- Intermitted sway, 

And swift forget fulness entombs 
The deeds of that bright day. 

Ah, no ! The thought can be 

From the deep heart banish'd never f 

'Twas the captive's glimpse of liberty, 
Seen once and lost for ever ! 



THE BRETHREN OF PORT ROYAL. 141 

Scorn we a heart like his. 

At God's own footstool laid ? 
Forget not that of stuff like this 

Martyrs and saints were made ! 
Bat our words are bold and free, 

We judge, decide, condemn — 
Ah, God forgive us ! — what are ice 

That we should sentence them ? 



142 



LAYS AND BALLADS. 



OjcToU) of Cortrs. 

Word wag brought where Cortes lay 
On the shores of Coronzel, 

That, pent from the blessed light of day 
And the free breath of generous air, 
A band of Christians captive were 
In the hands of the Indians fell. 

Up rose in wrath that leader brave. 
And Bware by holy cross, 

Never to rest by land or wave 

Till he had loosed each captive's chain ; 
So did his gallant heart disdain 
Death, danger, woe, or loss. 

Eight weary days and nights he staved 

On the shores of Coronzel ; 
Far and wide his messengers strayed, 
Oft they went and oft return'd, 
But nought of that sad band they learn'd 
In the hands of the Indians fell. 



And all this while the wind was foul, 

The sky was stern and dark, 
Dark as a despot's threatening scowl ! 
But on the ninth bright morning, lo, 
The w T ind blow r s fair for Mexico, 
'Wooing each idle bark. 



THE VOW OF CORTES* 143 

The skies are lucid, clear, and smooth, 

As a sleeping infant's cheek, 
The breeze is like the voice of youth, 
The sea is like a maiden's smile, 
Sparkling and gay, yet shy the while, 
On lips afraid to speak. 

Sighing o'er dreams of fame withheld, 

Stood Cortes on the shore, 
His fiery heart within him swelled 

When he saw his good ships slothfully 
Cradled on that rocking sea, — 
" Unmoor!" he cried, " unmoor! 

A weary time have we tarried now, 

But the fruitless search is o'er" 
(Ah, couldst thou thus forget thy vow?) — 
" 'Twere sin to lose this favouring breeze, 
'Twere shame to scorn these courteous seas ; 
Unmoor, my men, unmoor !" 

Merrily rustled each flapping sail 

Unfurling as it met 
The soft caress of the buoyant gale ; 

And merrily shouted the seamen brave 
As their light barks crested each dancing wave, 
And the vow they all forget ! 

But scarce a league did that gay band sail 

Ere the sky grew overcast, 
And the good ships reel'd in the clashing hail; 
" Courage, my hearts !" quoth Cortes then, 
"It shall never be said that Spanish men 
Were scared by an adverse blast!" 



144 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

The heavens grew blacker aa be spoke, 
And their course they could not keep 
Save for the flashes blue that broke 

Like serpents of fire from the sable sky, 
While they hear the shrill wind's startled cry, 
And the roar of the stormy deep. 

But the leader's voice through wind and wave 

Rose calm, and clear, and bold ; 
" Hurrah, my mates ! the storm we brave ! 

Stand to your posts like men I" But hark ! 
A cry of terror shakes the bark, 
" There's water in the hold !" 

And to and fro on the slippery deck, 

And up and down the stair, 
Came laces full of woe and wreck, 

With staring eye and whitened lip, 
Hurrying about the fated ship 
In purposeless despair ! 

" Put back, put back, to Coronzel !" 

Cried the chief in sudden awe, 
" Put back, put back, — we did not well !" 
For his mighty heart w r as humbled now, 
And he bethought him of his vow, 
And the hand of God he saw. 

Then labouring in that dreadful sea, 

Through many an hour of fear, 
The groaning bark moved doubtfully — 
Oh, weary men, but glad they were 
When they felt the land-breeze stir their hair, 
And they saw the coast appear I 



THE VOW OF CORTES. 145 

Bold Cortes stood upon the shore 

When morning glimmer' d bright ; 
The frenzy of the storm was o'er, 

And he saw the calm blue waters lie 
Under a cloudless canopy, 
Curling in waves of light. 

A boat, a boat from Yucatan ! 
It sprang before the wind ; 
And thence there stepp'd a \vhite-hair'd man ! 
But not from age that hue of snow ; 
He walk'd with wavering steps and slow, 
Like one whose eyes were blind. 

Eager around his path they crowd, 

In wild but earnest glee ; 
They clasp his hand, they shout aloud ; 
For this was one of that sad throng, 
Pining 'mid pitiless Indians long, 
And now at last set free. 

But a wondering, troubled countenance 

That white-hair'd stranger's seems, 
Like a young child's uncertain glance 
When reason dawns upon its heart, 
Not understood as yet, but part 
Of vague departing dreams. 

"Come I to Christian men V he said, 

In eager tones but weak ; 
" Eight years have blanch'd this weary head, 
And all the time I have not heard 
The sound of one familiar word ! 
If ye be Christians, speak ! 



140 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

My brethren were around me slain, 

And I was spared alone ; 
But I have suffer'd want and [HUB, 
A captive's grief, an exile's woe ; 
What marvel that this early snow 
Upon my head is strown ? 

A humble priest of God am I, 

And I have kept my vow ; 
I saw, in speechless agony, 

All that I loved on eartli depart, 
And pray'd but for a stainless heart : 
Thank God, I have it now !" 

Around that holy man they stood, 

A hush'd and reverent band ; 
They wept, those soldiers stern and rude, 
As long-unwonted words he spake, 
And blest them all for Jesus' sake, 
Lifting his wasted hand. 

Strangely and long did Cortes gaze 

Into that stranger's eyes; 
They had been friends in earlier days, 

And now his lips half doubting frame 
A dear but unfamiliar name, — 
Linked to long memories ! 

And Cortes seems a boy again, 
Life's guilty paths unknown ; 
For many a change and many a stain 

Have fallen upon him since they met ; 
Much hath his hand with blood been wet, 
And hard his heart hath grown. 



THE VOW OF CORTES. 147 

All laden with the sins of years, 

He kneels upon the sod ; 
He kneels and weeps ! oh, precious tears ! 
The good man bends beside him there ; 
And well we know a righteous prayer 
Availeth much with God ! 



148 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



&f)c (^nrmtrs. 



[The story on which the following ballad is founded is related in 
Mrs. Jameson's " Lives of Female Sovereigns.'! 



On, fair was Countess Isadoure, 
The Ladye of Leon, 

And she unto her highest tower, 

With all her maids, is gone ; 
A veil of lace, in modest grace, 

Was wrapt her brow around ; 
Her vesture fair of satin rare 

Swept on the stony ground. 

She spake unto her wardour good : 

" Now, wardour, tell thou me 
How many years thou here hast stood 

To watch the far countree." 
The wardour stout, lie straight spake out: 

u Sweet ladye, there have been, 
Since first I clombe this lofty dome, 

Methinks full years fifteen. 

And every night, and every morn, 

Noontide and eve the same, 
I still was wont to wind my horn, 

For still a stranger came ; 
Now, twice three days are fully past, 

I gazed both far and wide, 
Nor have I wound a single blast, 
Nor have I aught espied." 



THE ENEMIES. 149 

The ladye dried her pearly tears, 

That flowed like summer rain : 
" Ah, wardour, spare a woman's fears, 

Go up yet once again ! 
Perchance thine eye my lord may spy 

Far in the distant west, 
For yestereen he should have been 

Enfolded to this breast." 

The wardour clombe the weary stair, 

And long and closely gazed ; 
At last his glad shout rent the air, — 

" Hurrah ! Saint James be praised ! 
I see a knight — the glimmering light 

Just glances from his shield ; 
His pace is slow, his plume droops low — 

He comes from a foughten field." 

Then joyful was that ladye bright 

With measureless content, 
And forth to meet the coming knight 

In eager haste she w T ent. 
" Now, maidens mine, bring food and wine, 

And spread the festal board ; 
Soft music bring, rich incense fling, 

To welcome back my lord." 

She placed her on a palfrey good, 

As well beseemed her state, 
And forth she rode in mirthful mood 

Down to the castle- gate : 
" Now, maidens, stay your pace, I pray, 

And let us gladly wait 



150 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Till yonder knight shall here alight 
By his own castle-gate. " 

They had not stayed an hour's brief space 

Beneath that sinking sun, 
When, lo, with stern and darkened face 

That stranger knight came on ; 
The lady saw his brow of awe, 

And mark'd his greeting word, 
Then veiFd her eyes in wild surprise, 

And shriek'd, " 'Tis not my lord !" 

His mien was sad, his crest defaced, 

His mail besprent with gore, 
He lighted off his steed in haste, 

Hard by the castle-door ; 
He flung aside his helm of pride, 

He bent his forehead low, 
And scarcely knew that war's red dew 

Fell trickling from his brow. 

" Ah, ladye," (thus the stranger said,) 

" 111 tidings must I tell ; 
Your lord will surely lose his head 

Before the matin-bell. 
His gallant host are slain and lost, 

His friends are all dispersed ; 
The cruel Moor is at his door : 

Yet is not this the worst ! 

Pent in Alhama's fort he lies, 

Bereft of every hope ; 
In vain his utmost strength he tries 

With triple force to cope ; 



THE ENEMIES. 151 

The Moor hath sworn, ere break of morn 

The fortress shall be won, 
And he will hang in ruthless scorn 

Its valiant garrison. 

Your lord commends him to your love, 

And prays, in piteous kind, 
That ere the morrow shine above, 

Some succour thou mayst find. 
He bade me tell, that, if he fell, 

Ere life's last pang were o'er" — 
Oh, cease thy tale, thou warrior pale ! 

The lad ye bears no more ! 

Then loud her maidens wail and weep, 

And mourn so sad an hour, 
They lift her up in deathful sleep, 

They bear her to her bower ; 
And loyal grief for their good chief 

Spreads far on every part, 
Through all Leon there is not one 

But bears a heavy heart. 



PART II, 

In proud Medina's castle fair 

The rosy wine flows bright. 
For proud Medina's valiant heir 

Brings home his bride to-night. 
Mirth smiles on every lip, and shines 

In every gleaming eye, 
And the sound of merry laughter joins 

With lutes and minstrelsy. 
o2 



152 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

Full many a knight of high degree 

Sate at Medina's board, 
But the morning-star of chivalry 

Was he, their stately lord. 
The haughtiest monarchs bowed them down 

In reverence of his fame, 
And the trumpet- tones of loud renown 

Were weary of his name. 

The health passed joyously about 

That table fair and wide, 
And every guest with eager shout 

Gave honour to the bride. 
The old hall rang to their joyous peal; — 

While, on its sides so high, 
The clattering sound of the shaken steel 

Gave faint but stern reply ! 

Was that the sound of lance or sword 
'Gainst the mailed hauberk ringing, 
Which circles above the festive board, 

And the lordly banners swinging ? 
Lo, every lip forsakes the cup ! 
Lo, every knight starts breathless up ! 
For wheeling around 

That ancient hall, 
Came the murmuring sound 
Of a trumpet-call, — 
Sinking and swelling, slow and soft, 
And lost in the night-wind's whistle oft. 

It ceased, that low and fitful sound, 
It died on the evening gale, 



THE ENEMIES. 153 

And the knights they all gazed grimly round, 

And the ladies all wax'd pale ; 
The baron bold was first to break 

The silence of his hall : 
" What may this bode ?" — 'twas thus he spake — 

" Now rede me, warriors all." 

Then up spake Guzman of Mindore — 

A holy monk was he — 
" 'Tis the sound," quoth he, " of the coming Moor ; 

Oh, let us turn and flee I" 
Him answer'd straight Sir Leoline, 

A true and stalwart knight, 
" ? Tis the sound of the coming Moor, I ween ; 

Let us go forth and fight." 

Then every gauntlet sought its sword 

With a quick and friendly greeting, 
And a clash arose at the festive board, 

But not of goblets meeting. 
Up sprang each knight ; like a beam of light 

Forth flash'd each trenchant blade, 
And the backward start of the quivering sheath 

A stirring answer made — 
When, lo, on the breeze again was borne 
The cadence wild of that echoing horn ! 

And see, where up the hall proceeds 

A sad yet stately group ; 
A ladye, clad in mourning weeds, 

Is foremost of the troop. 
Her tearful eyes betray her grief, 

Her mien shews her degree ; 
And forward to the wondering chief 

She steps right gracefully. 



154 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

She wrung her hands, and down she kneeled, 

So sorrowful, so fair, 
That heart must have been triply steeled 

That could resist her prayer. 
Scarce have her trembling lips the power 

Their suppliant words to frame, 
She sinks upon the marble floor, 

Murmuring her husband's name ! 

Her husband's name! — unwelcome sound 

In proud Medina's cars : 
A wrathful whisper circles round 

The band of knights and peers ; 
From lip to lip is past the word, 

In tones of fierce rebuke, 
" Is it the wife of Cadiz 9 lord 

Who seeks Medina's duke?" 

Alas, that deadly feud should be 
Between two hearts so brave and free ! 
Alas, that long ancestral hate 
Such kindred souls should separate ! 

Up rose that ladye at the word, 

And spake with queenly brow : 
" It is the wife of Cadiz' lord 

Who seeks Medina now ! 
I come to tell my husband's plight, — 

A captive doomed is he ; 
And I charge thee as a Christian knight 

Go forth and set him free ! 

Pent in Alhama's fort he lies, 
Bereft of every hope ; 






THE ENEMIES. 155 

In vain his utmost strength he tries 

With triple force to cope ; 
The Moor hath sworn, ere break of morn 

The fortress shall be won, 
And he will hang in ruthless scorn 

Its valiant garrison. 

Then canst thou, wilt thou, not forget 
The stormy words when last ye met V 3 
" Say rather, will I not contemn 
The heart that could remember them ? 
Fear nothing, gentle ladye, — I 
Am slave to love and chivalry. 
Let each who keeps his honour bright 

And holds his conscience free, 
Let each who Coasts the name of knight, 

Forward and follow me !" 
He spake, and shook his flashing sword, 
Then darted from the festal board. 

Him followed Guzman of Mind ore 

With words of counsel wise : 
u Oh, cross not thou thy castle-door 

On such a mad emprise ! 
Recall, recall thy hasty word, 

Nor set false Cadiz free !" 
But out then spoke that generous lord, 

" He is mine enemy V 

And never another word spoke he, 

But on his steed he sprang ; 
And forth he rode right joyously, 
As though for his wedding revelry 

The merry church -bells rang : 



156 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

O glorious time, and noble race, 
Where hate to honour thus gave place! 

Behind him then his vassals crowd 

In legions bold and bright, 
The prancing of their coursers proud, 

It was a stately sight ; 
And the music of their eager swords, 

In warlike fury clashing, 
Was a stirring sound, like the wild rebound 

Ofwayefl o'er dark rocks dashing. 

Like the torrent plunging from the rock, 

Or the lightning from the skies, 
So rolled the thunder of their shock 

Against their enemies ! 
How should a mortal foe resist 

The charge of such a band ? 
They scatter'd like an April mist 

Cleft by the sun -god's hand ! 

Oh, brightly on Albania's fort 

The morning sun was beaming, 
Where many a chief of lordly port 

Stood in his armour gleaming ; 
Fair is the scene its towers disclose 

In their high banquet-hall ; 
But the first embrace of those two foes 

Was a fairer sight than all ! 

Oh, fast through all the Spanish land 

That victory was told, 
Right gladsome was King Ferdinand, 

Right gay his warriors bold ; 



THE ENEMIES. 157 

From lip to lip the bright tale darts, 

All laud the high emprise ; 
But the union of those generous hearts 

Was dear in God's own eyes ! 



158 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



(fiustabus an& ©fjristmr. 

[Gustavus Adolphus sacrificed his passion for the beautiful Chris- 
tine to the welfare of his country ; but that the feeling was subdued, 
not forgotten, seems to be proved (if, indeed, it require proof) by the 
touching circumstance of his giving her name to his first-born daugh- 
ter.] 

The lengthening shades of rook and steep 
Along the level waters creep, 
And yonder mountain's crest of snows 
Transparent in the sunset grows ; 
Ere yet Night's gradual hand unroll 
The wonders of her starry scroll — 
Ere yet the waves that blush and burn 
To lines of liquid moonlight turn, — 
Upon that lone and silent shore 
The lovers meet — to meet no more. 

Full strangely did the blended light 
Of parting day and coming night 
Shine on each pallid face, to shew 
How joy was passing into woe : 
Even then the hero's lofty will 
Was master of his anguish still ; 
Calmly — as one who uttereth 
The last few solemn words of death — 
He speaks ; with drooping head she hears, 
And still makes answer by her tears. 

" Christine, it is not ours to part 
Plucking fond memories from the heart, 
Nor feebly o'er our griefs to brood 
In luxury of solitude ; 



GUSTAYUS AND CHRISTINE. 159 

We go, in patience and in prayer 

Our daily cross apart to bear ; 

Yet, through the struggle and the strife, 

The lengthened bitterness of life, 

My soul's unfailing balm shall be, 

The thought of all thou wast to me. 

Of all thou shalt be ! To my dreams 

The past for ever present seems. 

Oh, could that haj)py magic last, 

And make the present seem the past I 

In vain ! They shine no more for me, 

Those eyes of readiest sympathy, 

Whose tears could turn my grief to bliss, 

And soften every pang — save this." 

He paused ; his glance, resolved and proud, 

Betrayed a dimness and a cloud. 

Kneeling, she hid her face, and strove 

To frame the words, " Forget me, love !" 

Her trembling hands he clasped : fC Oh, cease ! 

Dream not forget fulness were peace ; 

Years shall not shadow from mine eyes 

One of their bright, sad memories ! 

Still let my heart, though wrung and riven, 

Reflect how nobly it was given ; 

Still guard its secrets as a shrine 

Worthy of thee— and only thine. 

But thou, Christine ? I dare not gaze 
On the slow current of thy days ; 
No breeze to stir, no beam to warm, 
Remote from sunshine as from storm, 
p 



ICO LAYS AND BALLADS. 

How will that heart, fresh, bounding, young, 
By grief's remorseless clasp be wrung ! 
Oh, weeping much, and suffering long, 
Patient in woe, in weakness strong, 
Thou goest a captive's life to lead, 
And death were liberty indeed ! 

God arm thee with endurance! Yet 

Thou mayst do all things but forget. 

Thy pure and lonely love must be 

Firm to sustain itself and thee — 

Shining like yonder planet's light, 

Which brightens with the deepening night; 

And still, whene'er the voice of fame 

Breathes proudly my remembered name, 

Think — while thou weepest — think, * In this 

Nor small nor slight my portion is*' 

Farewell ! Oh, vainest word that e'er 

Fell from the weakness of despair ! 

Nor seas, nor worlds, nor fates have power 

To sever hearts for one brief hour/ 1 

Grief yields to love ; her streaming eyes 

She lifts, and with a smile replies. 

* * * * * * 

The sea hath lost its edge of gold, 
The mountain-crest gleams white and cold, 
The silver moon shines pale on one 
Who kneels and weeps — he is alone ! 



NOTES. 



In these Notes I do not attempt to give anything like a narrative of 
events connected with the subjects of the Ballads, but simply to ex- 
plain, and that as briefly as possible, such points as may be supposed 
to require elucidation for my younger readers, in the hope that they 
may be induced to drink deeply for themselves of the fountains which 
they are here but invited to taste, 



CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. P. 1. 

For the details of this, and of many other Ballads, I am indebted 
to Miss Strickland's valuable and interesting Lives of the Queens of 
England, to which I beg, once for all. to acknowledge my frequent 
obligations. 

" But Saxon Harold " S>c. 
I take this opportunity of correcting a blunder, noticed by a critic in 
Bentleys Miscellany. The "right of a sovereign to name his succes- 
sor," though acknowledged even in the days of Queen Bess, never ex- 
tended so far as to enable him to will away his kingdom to a foreigner. 
Nevertheless, we cannot acquit Harold of bad faith in swearing allegiance 
to "William. I am quite aware that the historical knowledge displayed in 
these pages is neither profound nor extensive ; but I am anxious that it 
should be correct ; and shall therefore feel obliged to those who may point 
out errors or inaccuracies. 



" And their spears shone bright as the stars of nighty 

ad policy to remind my readers of Byron's exquisite line — 

" And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea;" 

but I suppose that, were 1 to omit such a reference, I should incur the 
charge of plagiarism. 



162 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

" Til the Duchess Matilda," 8,c. 

Matilda, daughter to Baldwin V., Burnamed the Gentle Earl of Flan- 
ders. She was married to William the Conqueror in the year 1052. 
She v. as a woman of remarkable beauty, great talents, and strong afTec- 
tions; and the only serious stain upon her character is the unworthy 
vengeance which she took against Urihtric Meaw, a Saxon nohle, to 
whom she was attached, and by whom she was slighted in early youth. 
The warm affection between herself and the Conqueror subsisted unim- 
paired throughout the whole of their wedded life; and history offers us 
few tales of deeper pathos than that of the rebellion of her first-bom, 
Robert — her own bitter struggles between a mother's love and a wife's 
duty — the touching and passionate reproaches of the injured husband 
and father — and eventually the death of the heart-broken Matilda, worn 
out by hopeless sorrow ; a fitting end for this domestic tragedy. The 
reader is again referred to Miss Strickland's Lives >>f the Queens of 
England. 



THE MEW FOREST. P. 10. 

11 It was the ruthless Conqueror." 

lam not sorry for this opportunity of exhibiting the darker side of 
the character of William I., lest it should be supposed by any that I 
wished to hold him up as a specimen of knightly virtues. His claims to 
such a character are destroyed by the recklessness and fierceness of his 
tyranny. That he was sensible, however, of his offences against the re- 
quirements of that spirit of chivalry, which, in many instances, it was 
his pride to obey, is sufficiently shewn by his confessions on his death- 
bed. He expressed the bitterest remorse for his acts of cruelty and 
oppression, especially for the desolation of that portion of Hampshire 
called the New Forest ; ordered large sums to be distributed to the poor, 
and applied to the erection of churches; set at liberty all Saxons whom 
he had retained in imprisonment; and finally, speaking of the inherit- 
ance of the crown of England, declared " that he had so misused that 
fair and beautiful land, that he dared not appoint a successor to it, but 
left the disposal of that matter in the hands of God." 



NOTES. 163 

THE KNIGHTING OF COUNT GEOFFREY OF ANJOU. P. 14. 

" That name Count Geoffrey did first assume" 

Such is the account of the origin of the name Plantagenet given by 
French chroniclers. It is, however, a matter of dispute whether the 
honour belongs to Count Geoffrey. 

" The Empress Matilda," 8,-c. 

She was the daughter of Henry I. by his wife Matilda of Scotland, 
and was espoused at the early age of five years to Henry V., emperor of 
Germany, then forty years old. She was the first female claimant to the 
sovereignty of England ; and from her, according to Miss Strickland, the 
title of our present gracious Queen is derived. Left a widow in 1125, she 
was betrothed to Count Geoffrey of Anjou two years afterwards ; but their 
marriage proved most unhappy, having been concluded against her will 
by the authority of her father. She was haughty, ambitious, and impe- 
tuous, though not destitute of talents nor of the warmth of heart which 
is generally supposed to accompany heat of temper. The following reign, 
which historians have agreed to call that of Stephen, was almost entirely 
occupied by a struggle for the crown between that prince and the Empress 
Matilda, whose son, Henry II., finally succeeded to the throne: thus 
virtually proving the validity of his mother's claims, though in the sin- 
gular contract between himself and Stephen he is said to be adopted " as 
son and successor to that prince by hereditary right." 



" Bear thou this blow," 8,-c. 

Such were the words which frequently accompanied the accolade, or 
stroke on the shoulder, by which knighthood was conferred. It was cus- 
tomary at the conclusion of the ceremony for the new-made knight, or 
novice, as he was called, to mount his horse, and shew himself in the 
streets of the city, amid the shouts of the populace and acclamations of 
the heralds. 



" Two cuisses of steel I give to thee" 

It was impossible to include in the ballad an entire list of the gifts 
presented by King Henry as sponsor to Count Geoffrey, his godson in 
arms. Miss Strickland thus enumerates them: "A Spanish steed, a 
steel coat of mail, cuisses of double proof against sword and arrow, spurs 
of gold, a scutcheon adorned with golden lions, a helmet enriched with 
p2 



164 LAYS AND BALLAD B. 

jewels, a lance of asli, with a Poictiers head, and a sword made by 
Gallard, the most famous of the ancient armourers." The oration here 
addressed by King Henry to the count is strictly in keeping with the 
customs of knighthood, which required that the novice should be 
solemnly instructed in his future duties either by the godfather who 
dubbed him knight, or the bishop whose oilier it was to consecrate his 
sword. 

Count (Jeotrrey was valiant and learned, handsome in person and re- 
fined in deportment. Altogether it would be difficult to select a more 
interesting hero of the ceremony of knighthood. 



THE ENGLISH MERCHANT AND THE SARACEN LADY. I'. 22. 

It was common for merchants to accompany the great body of Crusa- 
ders in their eastern progress, in the hope of opening a trade with the 
Syrians for many rich and valuable commodities unknown or difficult to 
be procured in Europe. 



11 Their first-born son was a priest of power" 

I need scarcely say, that the famous Thomas a Hecket, archbishop of 
Canterbury in the reign of Henry II., is the personage to whom I here 
allude. With his name most of my readers must be familiar, although 
the many conflicting views taken of his character and history render it 
somewhat difficult to arrive at an accurate estimate of either. It would 
be idle to discuss such questions here, or to attempt to compress, within 
the narrow limits of the?e pages, a narrative so full of important and in- 
teresting events. For this I must refer my readers to the History of the 
Early English Church, by the Rev. Edward Churton — a work with which 
I am not myself acquainted, but which is said to contain a detailed and 
accurate account of the period to which I refer. 



EARL STRONGBOX. P. 30. 

The invasion of Ireland by Richard de Clare, earl of Pembroke, sur- 
named Strongbow, in the reign of Henry II., is rather a romance than 
a history. He was invited to enter the green isle by Dermot, one of 
its kings, who had been expelled by his fellows for repeated treachery. 
Strongbow fell in love with Eva, the beautiful daughter of this worth- 



NOTES. 165 

less prince, married her, and afterwards rapidly conquered the island. 
The conquest was, of course, attended by many adventures, and inter- 
rupted by some reverses, among which I have selected one, which, 
seemed to me peculiarly interesting, as the theme of the present ballad. 
Fitzstephen was a pennyless knight, who, however, attained to such 
honour by his deeds of prowess during the invasion, that he was finally 
rewarded by the hand of the fair Easilia, sister to the Earl of Pembroke, 
to whom he had long been hopelessly attached. He is honourably distin- 
guished from his companions by his gentleness and generosity towards 
his vanquished foes. It is said that the harbour of Dublin was defended 
by two towers, respectively denominated Castle Hook and Castle Crook. 
When Earl Strongbow's fleet came in sight of shore, he pronounced the 
following oracular words, " We will take the city by Hook or by Crook ;" 
and this is supposed to be the origin of the proverbial expression of get- 
ting anything by hook or by crook. It must, however, be observed, that 
this explanation only substitutes one difficulty for another, as no satis- 
factory reason is suggested for the singular taste of the Irish in giving 
two such unaccountable names to their castles. 



THE CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. P. 35. 

" The lord of France's lovely land." 

Philip Augustus, king of France, was one of the principal chiefs of 
the crusade. Many were the differences which arose between him and 
the impetuous Richard ; not unnaturally, lor their characters were as 
dissimilar as those respectively assumed by the leader of a forlorn hope 
and the contriver of a mine. In 1191 Philip abandoned the crusade, 
not without subjecting himself to a bitter reproach from his lion-hearted 
colleague, who might well be doubtful of receiving a welcome in France 
when he also was reluctantly compelled to return. " If Philip think," 
cried the King of England, "that a long residence here will be fatal to 
him, let him go, and cover his kingdom with shame !" — Mackintosh's 
Hist, of England. . 

"And Austria's dulce." 

Leopold, duke of Austria, whose character, as drawn by Sir W. Scott 
in his exquisite romance The Talisman, exactly corresponds with the 
brief description here given. He appears to have suffered from an in- 
cessant and feverish desire to maintain his own dignity, the claims of 
which were frequently overlooked or despised by the energetic and dis- 



1G6 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

dainful Richard. At Asealon, where the duke lefused to work in the 
trendies wherein Coenr de Lion himself lahoured like a common soldier, 
it is said that the angry monarch spurned him with his foot. 



THE COMPLAINT OF CCKUR DE LION. P. 37. 

The lays composed hy this monarch form no unfavourable specimens 
of Provencal poetry. They are little known, but ought not to be omitted 
in our estimate of his character; and are in themseh < s a sullicient evi- 
dence of his vast superiority to the coarse and savag»« lttifux, to whom 
Strickland has compared him. 



" 'I'h ii land, Jerutalem. u 

This expression la intended to designate the Holy bend, of which 

Jerusalem was the capital. Coeur de Lion never obtained entrance 
within the walls of Jerusalem ; and when, to his bitter grief, and in 
spite of his prodigious efforts, the crusade was finally abandoned, and he 
was led to the summit of a neighbouring hill to take his first and last 
look of the Holy City, the high-souled warrior covered his face with his 
shield, to hide the tears which dee]) sorrow and bitter shame wrung from 
his lion-heart. 

" Specious Burgundy" 
The jealousy of Richard's superior prowess felt by the Duke of Bur- 
gundy is supposed to have been chiefly instrumental in procuring the 
final abandonment of the crusade. 



THE LAY OF THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. P. 48. 

Several members of the family of De Courcy accompanied Strongbow, 
earl of Pembroke, in his invasion of Ireland in 1169-70, and the indi- 
vidual who is the hero of our ballad conquered the province of Ulster. 



" The beauteous queen." 
The story of this lovely and high-spirited princess is full of deep and 
romantic interest. She was betrothed ere she had attained the age of 



NOTES. 167 

fifteen years to Hugh of l int de la Marche, one of the most 

renowned warriors of Ms time. King John, captivated by her surpassing 
beauty, prevailed on her parents to break off the marriage, and espoused 
her himself. At first her childish spirit was dazzled and enchanted by 
the brilliancy of her destiny ; but she soon recoiled in horror from the 
baseness of its partner, and remembered with bitter repentance the gal- 
lant knight whom she had been induced to abandon. The indignant 
Lusignan adopted the cause of Prince Arthur; but was taken prisoner 
by John, and subjected to the vilest indignities: indeed, it is supposed 
that his life was only spared at the entreaty of the queen. Afterwards, 
when, having regained his liberty and proved himself a formidable an- 
tagonist, King John was desirous of obtaining him as an ally, the only 
condition of peace on which he insisted was, that the infant daughter of 
Isabella should be given to him in marriage. This request, which suffi- 
ciently attests the chivalrous devotion felt by Lusignan to the memory of 
r ';ted affections, was granted ; but when Isabella, being left a widow 
at thirty-four, proceeded to deliver her child into his charge, the force of 
their old and unforgotten attachment revived at once, and the name of 
the mother was speedily substituted in the bridal contract for that of her 
daughter. Xearly twenty years of misery and humiliation had not taught 
Isabella to bridle that ambitious spirit which had so misled her in her 
days of girlhood ; and she eventually died of a broken heart, caused by 
the shame and scorn brought upon her husband and his family by the 
rash and rebellious wars in which her pride and vehemence had involved 
them. 4i She was a queen." she said, when Lusignan was about to pay 
homage to his sovereign, --and she scorned to be the wife of any man 
who must kneel to another." 



THE PRINCE AND THE OUTLAW. P. 60. 



" I am Adam de Gordon." 

Adam de Gordon was one of the last adherents of Simon de Montfort, 
whose daring and temporarily successful rebellion rendered troublous a 
great part of the reign of Henry III. In those days, when vast forests 
covered many parts of England, it was easy for an outlawed rebel, who 
was too proud to submit to authority, to conceal himself and live for 
years in a character strangely compounded of the hermit and the rob- 
ber. 



168 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



THE TOURNAMENT. P. fiS. 

In this ballad I have attempted to give an accurate description of 
the ceremonies attendant on a tournament j and I have selected the 
reign of Edward 1 1 . as belonging tO the period during which these war- 
like diversions were at their zenith in England. I cannot touch on this 
subject without mentioning how much and how frequently this little 
hook has been indebted to Mr. James's Interesting historical works. 



•• IVln )i gleaming shields were htsuglf^ 

Uciore the da> of tourney it was customary for such knights as in- 
tended to appear in the lists to suspend their shields in the churches or 
abbeys of the nearest city. Heralds were stationed in the cloisters to 
hear and answer .all questions concerning the knights. If am one, and 
especially if any female, had a complaint to prefer against one of the 
combatants, it was necessary to touch with a wand the shield of the of- 
fender: the herald then advanced, inquired into and registered the ac- 
cusation ; and if it was subsequently decided by the judge of the field to 
be well-founded, the culprit was forbidden to appear in the lists. If he 
was bold enough to venture to the field after this prohibition, lie was 
driven thence by the other knights, who struck him -with their trun- 
cheons, and chased him from the place with every mark of contempt. 



"Sir Piers de GavetUm." 

The unworthy and unfortunate favourite of Edward II. Reckless, 
insolent, and prodigal in the hour of his prosperity, he incurred the bitter 
hatred of the queen, whom he treated as a child, and the nobles, whom 
he slighted and ridiculed on every possible occasion. In 1312 he was 
beheaded, or rather murdered by his enemies, after the mockery of a 
trial, on the summit of Blacklow Hill, near Warwick. In memory of this 
outrage the place still bears the name of Gaveshead. 

a The scowling gloom of Pembroke.' 1 

In this stanza the names of those nobles who afterwards confederated 
against the life of Gaveston are enumerated. Their jealousy of him 
was conspicuously manifested at this tournament ; and he, on his part, 
did not fail to meet it in his usual spirit of disdainful scoffing. He 
called Pembroke, who was lean and sallow of aspect, " Joseph the Jew ;" 
Warwick, who foamed at the mouth when transported by passion, "the 
wild boar of Ardennes;" and Lancaster, who indulged an extravagant 



NOTES. 169 

the stage-player." S a Uiis public exhibi- 

tion of his folly, he was temporari. ..: the instance of the queen 

and the nobility. At part:/. rd upon him all the jewels 

which he had received as love-tokens from his fair and royal bride. He 
was recalled in the fatal year of 13 IS. 

! Hfc* 

Isabelle of France., at that period a beautiful girl of fifteen. Her name 
has since become synonymous with every thing that is darkest and most 
hateful in human na1 eyond the falsest of women, san- 

guinary and vindictive beyond the sternest of men. she united the worst 
vices of both sexes, and appears not to have possessed one redeeming 
virtue of either. Few ideas arise more forcibly on contemplating the 
splendour of this tournament, than that of the undeveloped germs of 
crime, horror, and misery which lay unsuspected beneath so fair and 
bright a surface. 

" By the shining rein of a silver chain" 

A lady frequently led her warrior's steed to the barrier by a silver 
chain. Sometimes whole processions of knights were thus conducted to 

* Lite icalls of glittering armour.'" 

When the two bodies of knights were drawn up in full array opposite 
to each other, a rope was stretched across the breasts of the horses, and 
held at either end by a herald. At the signal to charge, the rope was 
dropped, and the released and impatient steeds at once galloped forwards. 
The lists were generally marked out by wooden palings, above which 
were erected galleries for the spectators. The barrier was the entrance 
to the lists guarded by heralds, whose business it was to admit every 
knight who was deemed worthy of a place in the tournament. 



THE SIX BURGHERS Of CALAIS. P. 82. 

Manny:' 

Sir Walter, or Gauitier de Manny, was a knight of matchless courage 
and spotless fame, who came over to England when quite a youth in the 
train of Queen Philippa. Kis deeds of valour, unstained by any dark- 
ening tinge of ferocity, are in themselves a romance, and might rill a 
volume. 



170 LAYS AND BALLADS. 



THE DEATH OF KING JAMES I. P. 101. 

James I., having incurred the hatred of his nobles hy the unalterahle 
resolution with which he restrained their excesses, and the stern upright- 
ness with which he did justice between those tyrants of the soil and the 
unfortunate vassals whom they had been accustomed to oppress at their 
pleasure, was murdered hy a band of traitors led by Sir Robert (Jrahame, 
at Perth, in the year 1437. So valiantly did he defend himself, that, 
Although entirely unarmed, he succeeded in mastering two of the ruffians 
who attempted his life, and was only overcome at last by the assault of 
numbers. Sixteen wounds were found in his breast alone. 

11 Lei Cameron and Montrose reply .'" 

The dan Cameron was distinguished for its devoted loyalty to the 
unfortunate Charles Edward. At the battle of Culloden many Camerons 
were slain, and Lochiel, the chief of the clan, was borne from the field 
dangerously wounded. The name of Montrose at once calls up before our 
eyes an image of everything that is high-minded, chivalrous, and loyal. 
He suffered death by sentence of parliament shortly after the murder of 
Charles I. 



THE LAY OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. P. 106. 

The name and story of Wallace must be familiar as a household word 
even to the very youngest of my readers. For the particulars of his heroic 
life I would refer to Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, or to the Lives of 
Scottish Worthies in the " Family Library." 



BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. P. 108. 

" undaunted Randolph, 

Knight of the Perfect Wreath." 

Randolph, earl of Murray, one of the bravest of Bruce's followers, 
between whom and Douglas there was ever a generous rivalry in arms. 
Immediately before the battle of Bannockburn, the Bruce, perceiving 
that a body of English cavalry was attempting to force a passage into 
Stirling on the east, which quarter had been committed to the guardian- 
ship of Randolph, addressed that warrior in the words which have since 



NOTES. 171 

become almost proverbial : '•' See, Randolph, a rose has fallen from your 
chaplet !" The sequel is well known ; and the whole story is a beautiful 
specimen of the gallantry and generosity of Douglas and Randolph. 

" And valiant Grey, and stern La Haye" 

Sir Andrew Grey was one of the two bra%e soldiers who, in company 
with Randolph, led the adventurous band who took Edinburgh Castle by 
night assault. 

Gilbert de la Have, earl of Errol, was one of Bruce's most faithful 
adherents, and was created Lord High Constable of Scotland. 

" And loyal Lennox there.'' 

Bruce, when flying for his life and in great jeopardy after the battle of 
Methven, was warmly received by the Earl of Lennox, who lamented with 
tears that he could not afford him any effectual assistance. 

" Effaced and well atoned" 

Having been informed that this expression has been deemed objec- 
tionable by high authority. I beg to explain that I am here speaking not 
of any sins which Bruce committed against God, but of those of which he 
was guilty towards his country, and for which his after-life may well be 
considered a sufficient atonement. 

" Methveris field of blood and woes." 

The first battle fought by Bruce, after he took arms in behalf of his 
country, took place at Methven, near Perth, on the 19th of June, 1306, 
and was a total and disastrous defeat. 

" Eachrin's unforgotien coast." 

It was in the small and desolate island of Rachrin, on the coast of 
Ireland, that Bruce, a hunted and despairing exile, lay on his couch 
watching the efforts of a spider, and learning hope from the unwearied 
perseverance and final success of the insect. The story is too well known 
for repetition here. 

" Ar rail's isle by shady Clyde." 

Bruce landed in the island of Arran on his return to Scotland, and 
made his presence known to his friends, who were hunting in the woods, 
by winding a blast on his horn. " Yonder is the king !" cried Douglas, 
when he heard the sound ; " I knovr him by his manner of blowing." 
Q 



172 LAYS AND BALLADS. 

" The midnight watch.'" 

The story of the beacon on Tumberry Head is familiar to all readers 
of Sir Walter Scott's poetry— in other words, its notoriety is universal. 

" The death of the traitor Coiniju." 

The Red Coinyn was stabbed by Bruce in a burst of indignation at 
discovering that he was engaged in treasonable correspondence with the 
English. This fatal act was committed in the church of the Minorites at 
Dumfries; and it was in answer to Brace's wild and broken exclamation, 
BJ he rushed in remorseful agitation from the desecrated sanctuary, " I 
doubt I hae slain the red Comyn," that Kirkpatrick littered the celebrated 
words, " I will mak sicker;" and, hurrying to the spot, despatched the 
wounded man with his dagger. 

" Ok, lift me iij), in ;i I) ret lire n deur, 
J ad lit me look on Clyde!" 

The Bruce died in a castle on the banks of the Clyde; and one of his 
principal amusements, during the last days of his life, was to go out upon 
the river in a ship. 



THE rruce's heart, p. 113. 

14 A valiant knight the casket bore." 

Sir Simon Lnckhard of Lee, whose name was changed to Lockhart in 
memory of his guardianship of the Bruce's heart. 



GRIZZEL HUME. P. 119. 

"But he murmur'd Monmouth's name" fyc. 

The Duke of Monmouth, a prince of generous and gentle temper, was 
the personal friend of Sir Patrick Hume. He was engaged in the Jervis- 
wood plot, and was leader of that more dangerous enterprise organised 
in London, which cost the lives of Lord Russell and Algernon Sydney. 
Monmouth was beheaded in the reign of James II. 

" His daughter s first-born" fyc. 

The Lady Grizzel Hume married the son and heir of that Baillie cf 
Jerviswood whom we have before named as chief of the conspiracy in 
which Sir Patrick Hume was so deeply engaged. 



NOTES. 173 

" Sedgemoofs field" 
Monmouth was taken prisoner at the battle of Sedgemoor. 

" Lone Inchinnan's fatal ford." 

The Duke of Argyle was commander-in-chief of an army which in- 
vaded Scotland about the year 1638, and in which Sir Patrick Hume held 
a high post. He was taken captive by the enemy's forces while endea- 
vouring to cross the ford of Inchinnan. 



THE CHOICE OF THE CHRISTIAN HEROES. P. 131. 

H And heaven'* s own light for many a night 
Play'd round each sleeping head." 

The death of these heroic captives occurred exactly as narrated in the 
ballad. It was believed that beams of light irradiated the unburied 
corpses during many successive nights. Let not this goodly battalion of 
the noble army of martyrs be ever forgotten. 



THE VOW OF CORTES. P. 142. 

The story on which this ballad is founded is related by Mr. Prescott in 
his History of Mexico, which is throughout rich in romantic incident and 
picturesque narration. Aguilar, the aged captive whose liberation is here 
described, is included among the companions of Columbus, whose lives 
are related in a volume of the "Family Library," supplementary to the 
biography of that great discoverer. 



EXPLANATIONS OF SOME UNUSUAL WORDS 

EMPLOYED IN THE PRECEDING PAfl 



Burgher, or burgess.— A citizen ; that is, one who possesses the freedom 
of a city ami the privilege! connected therewith. The number and 
nature of these were, of course, dependent on the terms of the char- 
ter by which they were granted, and which was obtained either from 

the sovereign, or from the chief baron of the district in which the city 
was situated. The power of bearing arms, and the establishment of 
independent municipal governments, which continue to this day in the 
mayors and corporations of our towns, were the principal rights awarded 
to free cities. The first germ of citizenship in England is probably dis- 
coverable in the division of the country under Alfred into hundreds and 
tythings, in one of which every inhabitant was obliged to enrol himself 
under penalty of being treated as an outlaw. But in no country did 

the power of cities rise to so gnat a height as in Italy, where the most 
illustrious nobles were often subjected to the jurisdiction of the city 
near which they dwelt. The freedom of a city was frequently pre- 
sented to a knight or a nobleman; but though he thus virtually be- 
came a burgess, it is not customary to apply the name to any person 
of noble birth. Burghers were first summoned in England to attend 
parliament, which had hitherto been exclusively composed of nobles 
and ecclesiastics, by the revolted barons under Henry III. in 1265. 

Cas&ue.— A helmet; which, in its fullest signification, consisted of the 
steel cap covering the head, the beaver or beevor beneath the chin, 
and the movable vizor which defended the face. The beaver was also 
movable, and could be drawn up at pleasure to cover the chin and 
meet the lower rim of the vizor. The word heaver is often incorrectly 
used for vizor, or even for helmet. 

Corbel. — A carved projection from the wall of a building, on which the 
supports of the roof, or of a parapet beneath the roof, rested. No or- 
nament which does not form the base of a support receives the name 
of corbel. 

Cuirass.— A breastplate; to which were generally added the gorget or 
collar around the throat, the back-piece, and brassets or sleeves, 



EXPLANATIONS OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 175 

forming altogether a complete vest of steel covering the upper part of 
the body. 

CtrrssES.— Steel-plates covering the thighs. The legs were also defended 
by steel-plates, denominated greaves. 

Hauberk.— A shirt of mail. It extended from the throat to the thigh or 
knee, and was composed of links of interwoven steel, fitting more or 
less closely to the body, and so pliant as not to restrain the movements 
of the wearer. The hauberk was without sleeves ; and the name is 
also applied to a shirt of mail composed of plates. 

Herald.— The office of herald in the times of chivalry comprehended 
far more than is implied by its modern and popular signification in 
tale or drama — that of a messenger from one armed power to another. 
The respect which was entertained for the character amounted almost 
to reverence : it was a mortal offence to strike a herald ; and to assume 
the office without being really qualified for it, or to counterfeit with- 
out in fact possessing it, were crimes worthy of the deepest condem- 
nation. The business of the herald, besides proficiency in that minute 
science of genealogies and armorial bearings from which the name is 
derived, was, to receive from every knight a full and particular ac- 
count of all his exploits, whether successful or inglorious, confirmed 
by oath. Every warrior, on his return from any expedition, was bound 
to make such a report to the heralds, who thus became depositories of 
all records of fame or of dishonour, and accurate judges of the respec- 
tive merits of such knights as presented themselves in the field or the 
tourney. It was the part of the herald to receive all complaints, and 
answer all questions concerning the warriors who intended to tilt in 
the lists ; it was his part also to greet each knight as he presented 
himself before the barrier (see notes to the Tournament) with words of 
courtesy or of compliment, appropriate to the degree of his fame in 
arms, and to encourage the combatants by cries and shouts as they 
rode to the attack. Sir Walter Scott notices that the character of 
herald must have begun to deteriorate from its august dignity by the 
time of Louis XT. of France — that is to say, towards the middle of 
tb* 15th century; because that prince ventured to despatch a counter- 
feit, herald to Edward IV. of England; and the act is recorded by the 
contemporary historian, Philip des Comines, without any expressions 
of horror or disgust. 

Knight.— In the days of chivalry the dignity of knighthood was con- 
ferred only on persons of noble birth, who had previously filled the 
offices of page and squire in due succession. The manner in which 
the ceremony was usually performed is described in the ballad of 
Count Geoffrey of Anjou. The virtues imposed upon a knight, namely, 



176 LAYS AND HALLAD9. 

those of pit ty, courage, self-denial, generality, honour, loyalty, cour- 
tesy, scrupulous adherence to truth, and Indefatigable advocacy tfthe 
oppressed or helpless, were such as would grace and dignify our own 

enlightened da\s; ami i; may certainly he questioned whether they 
are more universally practised uow than they were of old. At any 
rate the ''few noble," who maybe said to have realised the idea of 
knighthood — such as (Jodt'r. y of Uouillon, the Hlack Prince, or the 
Chevalier Dayard — may tVarlessly challenge comparison with any 
members of the list ol' modem worthier It ll the fashion with mnny 
to decry chivalry, as though it were the cause ol' all those evils of 
which it was in fact the corrective and remedy. Those historical 
iconoclasts whose business it is to deface and destroy whatever has of 
old been held deserving of admiration or re\ -:pt, like their 

parallels in the religious world, to erect, in plarc of the idols which 
they dethrone, others far let! worthy of worship and praise; but so 
long as utilitarianism stands ready to assume the place of honour, we 
think, that no one possessing any degree of imagination or high- 
mindedness will ask chivalry to descend from it. 

. ( or drpi mlaut. (See Vassal.) 

MlLia. — This was the general engagement, hand to hand, in the tourna- 
ment, as distinguished from the jousts, where the knights tilted to- 
gether in pairs. The word is also applicable to a battle. 

Morion.— A helmet. (See Casque.) 

Page,— This was the oflice bestowed on children of noble birth when 
they had attained the age of seven years, previous to their induction 
into the duties of an esquire, which generally took place at fourteen. 
The page seldom resided under the roof of his parents, as it was sup- 
posed that their indulgence might materially interfere with the prose- 
cution of his education ; but he was generally committed to the charge 
of some renowned baron, on whose person it was his business to wait, 
though he passed the greater part of his time among the females of 
the family and household. He was sedulously instructed in all mar- 
tial exercises suitable to his age, and inured to obedience, courtesy of 
deportment, and indifference to fatigue or hardship. Many of the 
offices which were included among his duties would now be con- 
sidered menial ; hut we may regard his position as somewhat analo- 
gous to that of a fag in one of our public schools, who, though he be a 
duke's son, is not supposed to he disgraced by blacking his master's 
shoes. 

Selle.— A poetical word for saddle. 



EXPLANATIONS OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 177 

Serf.— A slave, the lowest kind of vassal, who was as much the property 
of his lord as was the soil which he was employed to cultivate, or the 
herds which he led to pasture. 

SauiRE (or esquire). — This office, though necessarily preliminary to that 
of knight, was not always conferred on such as were capable of being 
advanced to the dignity of knighthood. The position of a squire was 
still that of a servant, his duty being to attend on the person of the 
knight, to clean his armour, and watch his proceedings in the battle 
or the tourney, keeping in readiness to fly to his assistance when in 
imminent danger. The squire was not permitted to engage in the 
tournament at the same time with his master ; but there was a day 
appointed beforehand on which it was lawful for squires to contend in 
the lists, and on which they might possibly win their spurs. When a 
squire had attained the age of twenty-one years, if his conduct had 
been unimpeachable, and he had won honour in arms, he might de- 
mand knighthood from his master as a right. If he encountered a 
refusal, he might apply to any other knight for the accolade; and 
unless there were sufficient grounds for rejecting him, he was certain 
to obtain the boon which he sought. 

Suzerain. — The feudal lord, or sovereign of a district. The king was 
suzerain of his whole country; his nobles were all vassals to him, but 
suzerains to those beneath them. 

Vassal. — One dependent on another ; a subject, though not necessarily 
a serf or slave. A king might be the vassal of another king, if he 
possessed territories within the dominions of his brother sovereign. 
He was then bound to do homage for them, to give military service 
to his suzerain, and to appear, if summoned, to answer any charge 
made against him in his character of vassal. His nobles, or great 
vassals, owed him a similar duty, which they exacted, in turn, from 
their own dependants. But the effect of this system was to limit the 
power of the crown, and increase that of the aristocracy; for each one 
of the great vassals, with whom alone the king came in contact, was, 
in himself, so powerful as to be capable of resisting his sovereign with 
good chance of success. The spirit of loyalty, which was an integral 
part of chivalry, was one great corrective of this evil, as, except in 
gross cases of oppression on the part of the sovereign, it restricted the 
probability of rebellion to a few restless and unprincipled barons, and 
discouraged a league of the vassals against their suzerain. Another 
check was in time supplied by the progress of citizenship (see 
Burgher). The number of free and chartered cities, no longer in a 
state of vassalage, of course abridged the power of the nobles, while it 
tended rather to increase that of the monarch, to whom such cities 
continued to owe fealty and allegiance. 



178 



LAYS AND BALLADS. 



"Wassail. — Derived from Wmi heal, two Saxon words lignifying 

"Health to thee." The -wassail-cup, or bowl filled with spiced 
wine, which was the favourite beverage at the feasts of our Saxon 
forefathers, received its name from the words pronounced by Ro- 
wena, the beautiful daughter ofHengilt, when she presented it at a 
banquet to Prince Vorti^ern, her future husband. She advanced 
modestly towards him, and olfered him the goblet, Myiag at the same 
time, Wa* heal ltlaford conung — " Health to thee, my lord Hug." 
In its more general application, the word wassail signifies merriment 
or revelry. 







7 34 



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